


Nox Aurumque

by Emmyllou



Series: Lux Aurumque [2]
Category: Firefly, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Background Het, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming Out, Crossover, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Serenity (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 08:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19437610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmyllou/pseuds/Emmyllou
Summary: The ‘Verse can be a dangerous place to live, even in the best of times. These are not the best of times. In the midst of a second civil war, Arthur must learn to live a life among the stars, and Merlin must learn that the past cannot always be buried.This is a stand-alone sequel to Lux Aurumque; reading the previous work is not necessary.





	1. The Warehouse Job

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to the amazing [pablo360](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pablo360/pseuds/Pablo360), who provided much-needed feedback, encouragement, and semicolon corrections.
> 
> The title comes from Eric Whitacre's [Nox Aurumque](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIiiTjEQjxw) (English translation [here](https://ericwhitacre.com/blog/nox-aurumque-2))

“Manifesto: Arken machine guns, fifty; associated rounds, five thousand; regulation boots, fifty pairs; regulation coats, fifty; regulation helmets, fifty; regulation gloves, fifty pairs.” The guard glared at Arthur through the open window. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Arthur with a sheepish smile. “We ran into some trouble on the way over.”

“What kind of trouble?” the guard asked.

“We were attacked by an Independent ship. They tried to board us, but we fought them off,” Merlin piped up from the passenger’s seat.

The guard held a screen near Arthur’s face and squinted at the display. “You’re from Nautilus, huh? Explains the accent. Alright, you can head on through. Open the gate!” he yelled in Mandarin, and he pointed down the grey-paved road. “First left. Warehouse five.” He stepped away, and Arthur eased the truck through the gate.

“That was easier than I expected,” whispered Merlin.

Arthur nodded once, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Getting out is going to be the tricky part,” he said.

“No, that’ll be a piece of cake. You remember the plan??”

“Yes, Merlin, I remember the plan,” said Arthur. “Same as the last fifty times you asked.”

Merlin didn’t respond to that, mostly because Arthur had pulled up alongside warehouse five, and several workers crowded around the truck.

“We got a shipment of guns and armor for you,” Arthur said through the window. One of the workers led Arthur to the unloading dock, and Merlin opened the back of the truck.

“You got a toilet ‘round here?” Merlin asked a nearby worker while Arthur helped unload the truck.

“Inside, just to the right,” the man said, and Merlin hurried away. He locked himself in the single-stall bathroom and let his form slip away. This kind of magic was still so new to him, so unfamiliar. He hadn’t been sure if he was ready for this mission, but Mal and River had already programmed his and Arthur’s fake identification into the Alliance database, and he hadn’t had much choice. Merlin took a moment to adjust to his new limbs, then crawled through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door and took flight.

None of the warehouse workers paid any mind to the little flying insect as it swooped around the room and landed in shadowy corners. Merlin had practiced this part, laying runes with tiny buggy appendages, until he could do it in less than a minute. Ten minutes, ten runes: One in each of the corners, one midway through each of the long sides of the warehouse, and two on both the ceiling and floor for good measure. He slipped back into the bathroom and returned to Arthur’s side as a man.

“…always does this,” Arthur said. He was complaining to a bored-looking warehouse clerk. “Every time. I think he doesn’t like doing any of the heavy lifting.” He caught Merlin’s eye, and Merlin gave him a small nod. “Well, we’d best be going. Got to get back to the ship before noon. The pilot’s in a right mood after the attack this morning.”

Merlin and Arthur were barely a few dozen yards from the gate before a siren sounded and guards poured out of a nearby barracks. One troop of guards moved to reinforce the gate, while another score surrounded the truck. “Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, gentlemen,” said a sergeant, not looking sorry at all. “It seems there’s been a security breach. You’ll have to follow me. Step out of the truck, please, nice and slow.”

“ _Can you get us out of this_?” Arthur muttered in Brythonic.

“ _Yeah_ ,” said Merlin in the same language. “ _I just need a few moments_.”

“Now, please, gentlemen,” the sergeant ordered. He cocked his gun, a mean-looking thing with a short barrel. Merlin and Arthur had no choice but to obey.

“The man at the gate confirmed our identities,” said Arthur. “Whatever security breach you’re experiencing, we’re not part of it.”

“How odd,” the sergeant said. “It seems that your captain disagrees. She managed to get a message to the planet’s emergency services, who contacted us. She says that you two are Independent agents who hijacked her ship and stole her cargo.”

“That seems kind of silly,” said Arthur in a reasonable tone. He raised an eyebrow. “If we were Independent agents, why would we steal Alliance cargo just to return it to an Alliance base?”

That question seemed to stump the sergeant. “ _Ready_?” Arthur whispered.

“ _On my mark, hit the ground and cover your ears_ ,” said Merlin. “ _Three, two, one, now_.”

Arthur ducked, and Merlin cast two spells in quick succession. The world grew abnormally silent around him then exploded in a flash of light. Merlin’s ears rang from the sound of the flashbang despite his shield as the Alliance guards stumbled and swore around him. “Come on!” said Merlin. He dragged Arthur to his feet and pulled him toward the truck, only to see a soldier blessed with foresight slash a second tire.

“ _Follow me_ ,” Arthur said. “ _I remember the layout from the blueprints. I can get us out of here_.”

Merlin had memorized the blueprints as well, and he opened his mouth to inform Arthur as such, but Arthur just grabbed his arm and took off running. Merlin had to sprint flat-out to keep up as Arthur dragged him into a tiny alleyway between two warehouses. They crouched behind a stack of boxes and listened to Alliance soldiers tramp by just a dozen feet away.

“ _How much longer until the runes go off_?” Arthur asked.

Merlin checked his watch. “ _About seven minutes. Why_?”

“ _I have an idea to do even more damage. Lead the guards into warehouse five and barricade them in there._ ”

Merlin considered it. “ _It’s risky. What if we get trapped in there too_?”

“ _Well, it doesn’t have to actually be us, does it? How are your illusions coming along_?”

Merlin understood what Arthur was getting at. “ _Not great, but probably good enough for a chaotic chase_ ,” he said.

“ _Ah, chaos_ ,” said Arthur. “ _I can do chaos_.” He eyed the alleyway around him, then stacked a few of the wooden crates on top of each other. “ _Give us a boost, then_.”

Merlin formed a foothold with his hands, and Arthur clambered onto the crates and from there onto the roof of the warehouse. He lay flat on the roof, and Merlin joined him moments later in the form of a bluebird. Merlin shifted back to human form, and two rough likenesses of himself and Arthur appeared in the alleyway where the true versions had stood earlier.

“ _Two dozen soldiers to the north_ ,” Arthur said. “ _Another ten by the gate. I don’t think we should try to pick up any more. We’ll want to get far away from here before the runes blow._ ”

Merlin nodded and sent the illusions of himself and Arthur running out from the alley. They looped by the gate, and half the soldiers left their posts to chase after them. As the soldiers ran nearby, Arthur lobbed a flashbang. It was weaker than the one Merlin had produced earlier, but it still disoriented the men moving to surround the illusions. The soldiers to the north had spread out and formed a perimeter. One man took aim with his pistol, but his fellow knocked the gun aside. “Capture, not kill,” he said. “You heard the order.”

“I wasn’t gonna kill him,” mumbled the first.

The second man snorted. “Please. Your aim’s not that good. You’re more likely to kill when you’re aiming to wound.”

Arthur fired a few shots randomly into the ground, kicking up clouds of dust, and Merlin ran the illusions toward the warehouse. Hopefully, the dust would prevent the soldiers from taking too close a look. “Shut the door!” a guard called to a nearby warehouse worker, but Arthur killed the worker with a well-placed shot, and the illusions slipped in through the open door. Several guards followed, though not as many as Merlin would have liked, and he sent a strong gust of wind to slam the door closed. Merlin twisted his wrist, and the warehouse doors sealed themselves shut. The guards who weren’t trapped inside rushed to pry the doors open.

“ _How do we get out_?” Merlin asked, but Arthur was already scanning the Alliance base.

“ _There_ ,” said Arthur, pointing to a blank stretch of wall nearby. “ _No guards nearby, relatively speaking. We’ll have to get to the rendezvous point on foot, but hopefully the guards will be too distracted to see us_.”

Merlin’s eyes burned gold, and a series of hand-and-footholds sprung from the stone wall. He helped Arthur down from the roof and they hurried to their escape point. Arthur was halfway up when the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked sounded from behind them.

“Come on down from there,” said a soldier with stripes on her sleeves. Merlin knew they marked her as a lieutenant. “And turn around nice and slow. Hands up.” She nodded to the soldier on her right, and he stepped toward Merlin, handcuffs at the ready. Merlin allowed the soldier to grip his wrist, then shifted his arm from his elbow down into the front paw of a tiger. He struck upwards, raking his claws across the soldier’s face and leaving the man screaming, then changed his form fully. The lieutenant staggered back in shock, and Arthur shot her in the face. She crumpled to the ground, and Merlin sprang across her body to gut the last standing soldier.

Merlin’s hopes for a quiet and easy escape had been dashed, and they only had about two minutes until the runes he had placed took effect. He broke the mangled soldier’s neck with a quick jerk of his head, then shifted back to human just long enough to hiss “ _time to go_.” Arthur scaled the wall as fast as he could while Merlin flew over. On the other side, Merlin took the form of a horse. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the transformation took longer than usual. He was getting tired. Arthur climbed on his back, and Merlin set off at a gallop. He left bloody hoofprints in the prairie surrounding the Alliance base, and red droplets streamed from his jaw. A boom sounded from the base, followed by a series of crashes and an alarm.

“ _Sounds like a successful mission to me_ ,” said Arthur. “ _Though I suppose our getaway could have been cleaner_.”

Merlin couldn’t speak, but he snorted as expressively as he could. He was pretty sure Arthur got the message.

The rendezvous point wasn’t far, but Merlin took a circuitous route in case he was being tracked. Arthur had checked several times, but one could never be too careful. When they arrived an hour later, Merlin’s coat had started to lather, and Arthur, unaccustomed to riding bareback, was getting sore. Merlin halted in front of the stolen Alliance shuttle, and Arthur dismounted with a groan. Simon jumped out of the shuttle and rushed to his side to check him over for injuries. “ _I’m not hurt_ ,” Arthur said, before he remembered to switch languages. “I’m not hurt,” he repeated in English. “Just tired.”

Merlin shifted back into human form and nearly fell on his face. He felt drained, as though he had run far too long in a flat-out sprint. His muscles trembled, and he gasped for air. Simon managed to get a shoulder under Merlin’s arm just before he collapsed, and Simon and Arthur half-dragged and half-carried him into the shuttle.

“The captain is worried,” Simon said once he had gotten Merlin stretched out on a couch in the shuttle. “The captain of that Alliance junker managed to get a distress call off. Mal almost pulled you out of there, but we convinced him to wait.”

Zoë nodded her agreement from the pilot’s seat. “Saw some pretty lights an hour ago. Successful mission, then?”

Arthur sank into a chair and grinned. “We managed to trap some of the guards in the warehouse before it blew. It probably won’t have leveled the whole base—those walls were reinforced with steel—but we did a hell of a lot of damage. It’ll be out of commission for months.”

Simon dabbed at the blood around Merlin’s mouth. “It’s fine,” Merlin said as he pushed the doctor away. “It’s not mine.” A wave of dizziness washed over him when he tried to sit up, and he slumped back against the cushions again. Simon, frowning, checked Merlin’s pulse and temperature.

“Hey, Merlin, how many times did you shift during that mission?” Arthur asked. “Ten?”

Merlin gave a groggy smile. “Twelve,” he said, his voice slurred with exhaustion. “Not the most I’ve ever done that quickly, but close.”

Simon tsked. “You need to be more careful. If you keep doing things like that, you might be caught without power at the wrong moment.”

“I haven’t been without power in a long time,” Merlin said quietly. Another failed attempt to sit up took some of the weight out of his words, and Arthur just laughed at him. Merlin closed his eyes and watched the lights bloom, and Zoë flew the shuttle up and out of the atmosphere of the little barren moon. Not long later, the hijacked Alliance transport vessel, tethered to _Serenity,_ came into view.

Zoë hailed _Serenity._ “It’s us, Cap’n. Mission was a success.”

“Good to hear,” came Mal’s voice through the crackly connection. “We’ve almost finished stripping this boat. Care to help us lay the charges?”

“You know how much I love blowing up potentially useful assets,” said Zoë.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Mal said. “Our Kaylee has just informed me that we’ve gotten everything important out of the boat. All that’s left is the hull, and we both know that it’s not worth it to tow that oversized piece of scrap metal all the way home. Anything useful on the shuttle?”

“The nav system’s decent, and Simon found a few medical kits onboard,” said Zoë. “It shouldn’t take long to clean this thing out, though.” She docked the shuttle on the main vessel and tossed Arthur a small toolbox. “Come on, then. Help me out here.”

Merlin smiled to see Arthur tinkering with the equipment at the helm of the shuttle. It wasn’t too long ago that Arthur had held a wrench like a spoon and asked what kind of food he was supposed to eat with it. Now, his fingers, still forming calluses in strange locations, combed through the intricate hardware with a precision that even Kaylee would have admired. Merlin was pretty sure he admired it more, though.

Simon tossed a pair of medpacks onto Merlin’s chest, and Merlin huffed.

“Think you can carry those?” Simon asked.

Merlin rose to his feet, the packs clutched to his chest, proud that he only swayed a little bit.

“Good man,” said Simon with a smile. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to be in Alliance space any longer than we need to be.”

Merlin donned his space suit and made the short jump from the Alliance transport vessel to _Serenity_ with Arthur close behind, a solid, reassuring presence in the brief void. Mal waited in the cargo hold, his arms crossed and a box of explosives at his feet. Kaylee appeared from the hallway behind him and rushed down the stairs into Simon’s arms before Simon could even take his suit off.

“I was so worried when that Alliance captain managed to send a wave,” she said, her voice muffled by Simon’s shoulder. “I thought for sure you’d all be captured.”

Simon smoothed a hand down her back. “Shh, dear, we’re fine.”

“I’m going to lay these charges,” said Mal. “Zoë?”

“Right behind you, sir,” Zoë said.

“Come on, Merlin,” Simon said. “Let’s get to the sick bay. I want to run a few tests while you’re drained. Bring the medpacks.”

“I’ll take those,” Kaylee said to Arthur as Merlin stepped out into the hall.

Down in the sick bay, Simon poked and prodded at Merlin, drawing blood and testing breathing and heart rate and reaction time. Merlin allowed it for ten minutes, then he brushed Simon off with the excuse that excessive expenditure of magic made him ravenous. It wasn’t a lie, but mostly Merlin was getting a bit annoyed. Mal was waiting for him by the time he got to the kitchen, and Merlin groaned inwardly. He knew he was in for a lecture.

“Did anyone see you use magic?” Mal asked without preamble.

Merlin clattered around the kitchen. “No one who survived.”

“Is that a fact?”

“We were in a blind spot. No cameras. Arthur made sure.” Arthur hadn’t told Merlin as such, but Merlin trusted Arthur’s judgment in escape routes.

Mal frowned. “And you’re absolutely positive that no one was lurking around the corner or setting up for an ambush?”

Merlin threw a pack of instant noodles into a pot with more force than necessary. “You know, I hid my magic for over two thousand years all on my own. I don’t need you standing over my shoulder and micromanaging my every little cantrip.”

“The stakes are higher now,” Mal said.

Merlin turned away from his food to shoot a glare at the captain. “Higher? My best friend would have killed me if he had found out about my magic.”

“And how many people would die now if the Alliance got wind of it?” Mal demanded. He stepped toward Merlin, forcing him up against a cabinet. “Secret weapons are only good if they’re secret.”

Merlin pushed at Mal’s shoulders until the captain took a step back. “You’re the one who came up with the idea in the first place. What are you expecting the Alliance to think when their forensic team doesn’t find any traces of explosives in the ruins?”

“They’d be confused, alright, but I reckon their first thought wouldn’t be _magic_. Seeing you shapeshift is a different matter. You need to be more careful.”

Merlin crossed his arms, his noodles forgotten. “Everyone who saw me is dead. Arthur and I made sure of it.”

Mal held Merlin’s gaze for a long, heavy second. “Alright, son. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said. He turned away from the captain and added a spice packet to his pot of noodles. “How’s the propaganda coming along?”

Mal was silent for a moment, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he would answer. “Inara is doing well,” he said finally. “She’s due to get back to Ugarit a few days after we land. Her last update was… promising. It sounds like she’s been able to put together a pretty effective smear campaign among the criminal element of Sihnon. And she said that military recruitment, especially for officers, took a nosedive about a year ago. Alliance are starting to feel the effects now. Good news for us.”

Merlin nodded. It had been Arthur’s idea to send Inara to Sihnon, and Merlin had been surprised by how much Inara had liked the idea. Inara wasn’t squeamish, but she had felt like her talents had been wasted as Simon’s medical assistant. When Arthur suggested that she act as a spy instead, she had jumped at the chance to put her training as a Companion to use once more.

Mal grabbed a protein bar from a kitchen cabinet. “I want you back at the helm in ten minutes,” he said, and he left Merlin alone with the noodles. Not five seconds later, Arthur dropped into the chair that Mal had so recently vacated.

“You’re wrong,” Arthur said.

Merlin took his time straining his noodles. “About what?”

“I wouldn’t have killed you.” Arthur shifted in his chair. “At least, I assume you were talking about me. Just now, I mean. I… um. I figured I was your best friend.”

“Obviously you’re my best friend,” said Merlin.

“Oh, good.” Arthur frowned. “I wouldn’t have killed you.”

“Do we have to do this now?” Merlin said before stuffing his mouth full of pasta. “I need to get to work.”

“It’s been over two years,” said Arthur. “We need to talk about it sometime.”

“I’m due on the bridge in—” Merlin checked his watch. “Eight minutes. Do you really think now is the best time for this?” Arthur crossed his arms but didn’t speak, and Merlin sighed. “We have talked about it. Remember? I said I’m a sorcerer and then you died.”

“There was a bit more to it than that,” Arthur said. “And I still have some things I want to say to you.”

Merlin gestured with his fork before stuffing more noodles in his mouth. He really didn’t want to have this conversation, but Arthur apparently didn’t care.

“I was… hurt that you didn’t tell me, and at first I didn’t understand why. But after thinking about it for a while, and you gave me plenty of time to think about it…” Arthur leveled a glare at Merlin. “I get it. If our positions were reversed, I can’t say for sure that I would have told you. But when I think about good we could have done for Camelot, the course that history might have taken if we had been honest with each other from the beginning…” Arthur couldn’t finish his sentence.

Merlin swallowed his mouthful of pasta but didn’t take another bite. The same thoughts had haunted him, especially in the decades just after Arthur’s death. He thought that those memories would have lost their raw edge, but Arthur had always been able to make him feel the tender, painful things that he tried so hard to bury deep. “I wish I had told you earlier. Knowing what I know now, I would have told you the moment I met you.” Merlin reconsidered. “Well, maybe not right then. That would probably have gotten me killed.”

“Probably,” Arthur said. “But I would have been really sorry about it afterward.”

“I’m sure that would have been a great comfort to me,” said Merlin in a wry voice. “You’re right, though. We do need to talk about this.” He looked at his watch. “I just don’t have the time right now.”

“You’ve been saying that for the last two and a half years,” Arthur said.

“Well, yeah, we’re fighting a war, remember? That tends to be a lengthy process.” Merlin finished his noodles, and Arthur followed him into the kitchen.

“You’re avoiding this conversation,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn’t deny it. “I just don’t know why.”

“You were _gone_ ,” Merlin said. His voice came out as a broken whisper. “I kept thinking you’d come back, and you kept disappointing me.” Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Merlin pressed on. “I know, okay? I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t decide to leave, and you didn’t decide to return. But I had made my peace with it. I’ve had this conversation with you, over and over in my head, for two thousand years. I was done with it, and now you want to open it up again and rehash it all?”

“I think I deserve to participate in it too,” Arthur insisted. Merlin made to leave the kitchen, but Arthur blocked his path.

Merlin’s heart thudded in his chest, and he was suddenly very aware of Arthur’s proximity. His gaze fell to Arthur’s lips, and, not for the first time, Merlin wondered what it would be like to kiss the man who had once been his king. Arthur took a step forward, a flush rising in his cheeks, and laid his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The ‘Verse narrowed to just the two of them, and they lingered together in that moment, unable to look away. Merlin even dared to hope that Arthur might kiss him, but just as Merlin tilted his head, Arthur pushed him back.

Merlin stumbled and steadied himself on a cupboard shelf. “What the hell?” he demanded, but Arthur only set his jaw and turned away. Merlin wanted to scream at Arthur, to shake him, to make him feel all the raw and confusing things he made Merlin feel. “I need to get to the bridge,” Merlin said instead.

Arthur didn’t try to stop him as he walked away.

Merlin was surprised to see Zoë perched in the pilot’s seat. She rarely ventured to the bridge, even though she was a competent pilot in her own right. Merlin supposed that the place was haunted for her. He understood all too well.

“Are we making any stops before Ugarit?” Merlin asked.

Zoë rose from the pilot’s seat as though she had been burned. “No,” she said with a forced air of indifference. “We should get going. Cap’n will detonate the charges once we’re a safe distance from the Alliance vessel.”

Merlin patted Zoë’s shoulder as he moved past her to the pilot’s seat. She didn’t respond, but Merlin thought he saw her cold expression soften a little. She left the bridge, and Merlin was once again alone with the stars. He retracted the tether that held _Serenity_ to the Alliance vessel and eased his way to a fast burn. Ugarit was only a few days’ journey away.

Merlin loved flying. He loved the control of it, of the ship responding to his coaxing and commands. He had been a sailor for a while back on Earth-That-Was, but even that giddy sense of freedom and danger paled now in comparison to this golden sojourn between the stars. The aftermath of a mission always felt strange to Merlin. He was proud, certainly. Satisfied, obviously. But he also felt a strange weight hanging around his neck. He had killed dozens, maybe hundreds of people today. Who would he have to kill next? Merlin hated war.

The necessary preparations for landing at Ugarit were few and simple, so Merlin had plenty of time. He filled it with talking, mostly with Arthur. Their conversations were long-overdue and often heated, but Merlin felt better afterward.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” Arthur admitted one evening.

Merlin, panting, checked the readout on his treadmill. “We’ve only been going for two miles.”

“No, not… this.” Arthur waved his hand at _Serenity's_ tiny, makeshift gymnasium. He had insisted Mal needed to install training equipment—especially now that Jayne had departed, taking his weights with him—after their first month-long mission, saying that he needed to rebuild his muscle mass after two thousand years as a sack of bones. Merlin personally thought he had a point, but Mal had taken some convincing. “I mean, this whole soldier thing.”

“We’re not even really soldiers,” Merlin said.

Arthur threw Merlin a dirty look. “Oh, thanks. That makes me feel loads better.”

“No, I mean…” Merlin slowed his pace to a walk. “I know you want to have command, but you appeared out of nowhere with no connections or records; the general couldn’t exactly give you an officer’s commission right away. And from what I’ve heard, General Albia makes no secret of how much she likes us. The whole crew, I mean. I know it’s taken some getting used to, but we’re helping the Independents as best as we can.”

Arthur considered. “I guess that’s not so bad. After all this is over, where do you think we’ll end up?”

“I’m not sure,” said Merlin. “I don’t know if the crew will be able to go back to being petty thieves if we win.”

“ _When_ we win,” Arthur corrected.

“When we win.” Merlin smiled. “Maybe we’ll be a legitimate transport ship. No smuggling necessary.”

“I don’t know if I’d be satisfied with that,” said Arthur.

“I’m sure there’d be a place for you in the government,” Merlin said. “The general could set you up with a nice appointment. She respects your leadership ability, for some reason.”

Arthur tackled him for that.

“But what about you?” Arthur asked, panting, several minutes later. “What would you do?”

“I’ll follow you,” Merlin said from beneath him. “Always. You know that.”


	2. Consequences

“ _Serenity_ requesting permission to land, access code three-aught-seven-two-nine,” said Merlin.

“ _Serenity_ , you have permission to land,” answered a crackly voice over the headset a moment later.

Merlin guided the ship below the south pole of New Canaan, and its shadow-darkened moon, Ugarit, came into view. He touched down on the landing strip just outside the capital city.

Ugarit was wilting. Merlin could think of no other word for it. Though its population had never been large, the moon somehow gave the impression of having recently diminished after a previous time of greatness. Merlin thought it was an appropriate metaphor for the state of the small army camped between the hills of its arid scrubland. A listless clerk registered the ship at the dock, and Mal left Zoe in charge of the intake procedure while he, Merlin, and Arthur made their way through the streets to the general’s base of operations. Mal, apparently determined to greet every soldier he passed, soon fell behind. It was him the soldiers of Ugarit loved, even though General Albia’s banner was the one they rallied under. Merlin took a closer look at the soldiers. The crew of _Serenity_ had only been gone for two months on their most recent mission, but the capital had deteriorated even in that brief time. Soldiers on leave wore discontented, surly expressions, and those on duty slouched at their posts. Even the native inhabitants of the city looked downtrodden as they shuffled through the mostly-unpaved streets.

“ _What happened_?” Arthur asked in Brythonic. “ _This place looks awful_.”

Merlin shrugged. “ _We haven’t gotten any reports of an attack_ ,” he said.

“ _This doesn’t look like the aftermath of a battle or a raid_ ,” said Arthur. “ _No wounded_.”

“ _They look hopeless_ ,” Merlin said.

They both looked back at Mal. The soldiers he talked to brightened in his presence, and even after he had moved on, they seemed to walk with more purpose. Arthur had had the same effect on the soldiers of Camelot. Merlin smiled, reminiscing.

Mal must have noticed Merlin and Arthur watching him, and he jogged to catch up. “Look lively, boys,” he said. “You know Flavia can sniff out any hints of weakness. Best not give her any points of attack.”

“Arthur’s always scared to meet with her,” said Merlin with a laugh.

Arthur pouted. “That’s not true. Besides, you’re the one who couldn’t stop stuttering when you first met her. Always a sucker for a pretty face, aren’t you, Merlin?”

“Don’t let her catch you calling her pretty,” Mal warned. “She’ll have you strung up.”

Arthur pursed his lips. Merlin knew the general wouldn’t go quite that far, but she certainly wouldn’t be happy.

They made the rest of the walk to the Ugarit headquarters in silence. Merlin had always thought that the building General Albia had chosen as her base of command felt out of place on the rather rural moon. It reminded him of Tudor architecture with its whitewashed walls and contrasting crossbeams, and it brooded over the town of ranch-houses and flat facades all done in monochrome.

“We’re here to see Flavia,” Mal said to the guard standing watch by the headquarters door.

“General Albia,” the guard corrected with an air of mild disapproval, “is currently waiting on an appointment.”

“We’re the appointment,” said Arthur.

The guard gave the group another once-over and realized his mistake. “My apologies,” he said. “I’ll inform the general right away.” He muttered into a walkie-talkie and listened intently to the burst of static that came as a response. “She’s expecting you in the war room. It’s just down the hall, take a left at the lamp and a right at the—”

“We know where the war room is,” Mal interrupted. “Thank you, soldier.”

The guard nodded and saluted, and Mal led the way to the war room. The halls were dustier than Merlin remembered, and they seemed to drape around him with an air of listlessness, as though they could barely be bothered to hold up the ceiling. The war room itself was similarly gloomy. Its overstuffed shelves sagged beneath the weight of books and charts. A rickety table in the corner held the remains of mid-morning tea for one. In the center of the room stood a stocky woman in a simple leather uniform poring over a holographic map of the ‘Verse. Her dark hair, usually bound up in a bun, hung loose around her shoulders in a mass of curls. Merlin knew that much of her bulk came from the bulletproof armor concealed beneath her uniform and long brown coat.

“I hear you performed magic in view of the enemy,” General Flavia Albia said as soon as Merlin set foot in the room. She didn’t bother looking up from her map.

Merlin sighed inwardly. “Captain Reynolds told you about that already, did he?”

“He mentioned it briefly in his preliminary report.”

“He mentioned it to me less briefly on the flight over here,” said Merlin.

The general fiddled with the controls on her map. “Now is not the time for levity, Emrys.”

Merlin thought that most of the soldiers and townsfolk he had seen could use a bit more levity, but he bit his tongue.

“All enemies who saw Merlin use his powers are dead,” said Arthur. “He was out of view of security cameras.”

“And what if the soldiers had body cams?” General Albia said. She finally raised her head and glared at Arthur. “Did you even think of that?”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “No, but…”

“I see.” Albia returned to watching her map. As she watched, a tiny point of light flashed on the planet Highgate. “You’ll be pleased to know that Jayne got Inara safely to the extraction point.”

Mal nodded. “Good man.”

“Debatable,” said Albia. “There were, by the way.”

“There were what?” Mal asked.

“Body cams. On the soldiers. River was watching and managed to prevent the most damning footage from reaching the Alliance, but both Merlin and Arthur’s faces were clearly visible. Every Alliance database of criminals and terrorists will have your pictures by now. I hope it was worth it.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. His throat was dry.

Albia looked at him for the first time during the meeting. Merlin didn’t feel X-rayed like he did under Mal’s piercing gaze. Albia’s regard was colder, more calculating. Merlin knew that to her, he was no more than a piece in her game. A powerful piece, to be sure—no simple pawn was he—but a piece nonetheless. “You’re sorry?” she repeated. “Whatever for?”

“For, um.” Merlin swallowed. “For using my magic where the Alliance could see me.”

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing to me,” Albia said. “I’m not the one hurt by your carelessness. You should apologize to the civilians who will continue to suffer in war zones because I can no longer send two of my best men in undercover. You should apologize to the soldiers who will lose their lives defending our bases when the Alliance attacks, hoping to kill you. You should apologize to the people who will be arrested and brutalized for the crime of looking like you. You should apologize to—”

“Enough,” interrupted Mal.

“What did you say to me?” Albia asked, her voice low and controlled.

“I said enough. He’s been officially reprimanded. Anything more is unnecessary punishment.” Mal didn’t appear fazed by Albia’s venomous glare. “He made a mistake. He’s certainly not the first man to do so, and I reckon he won’t be the last.”

Albia didn’t respond or even move for a few tense moments. “Aye,” she finally said. “I was too harsh. I allowed my personal feelings to get the better of me. I apologize.”

Mal nodded once in acknowledgement, and Albia’s shoulders relaxed by a fraction of an inch. Merlin breathed a silent sigh of relief. The worst was over, but he was pretty sure he still hadn’t heard the end of it.

“You were told before your most recent mission that your target warehouse contained food and medical equipment,” Albia continued in a warmer tone. “That wasn’t the whole truth. I received intelligence some months ago that Alliance researchers had developed an especially aggressive and antibiotic-resistant strain of Mycobacterium tuberculosis. That warehouse contained enough bacteria to infect an entire colony.”

Understanding dawned on Arthur’s face. “The Alliance would send in infected food and medicine under the guise of war relief,” he said. “They’d target the colonies that haven’t thrown in with either side, then come to their aid with a cure. Or they could disguise themselves and distribute the supplies to Independent planets.”

“And then spread propaganda saying that the Independents either couldn’t or wouldn’t send medical aid,” said Albia with a nod of approval. “I thought the same.”

“Why not try to get a sample for ourselves?” Mal asked. “We could work on a cure.”

“We don’t need a sample,” Albia said, smiling thinly. “We have River. She infiltrated the research base and plucked the bacteria’s genome right out of the heads of the scientists. It took her weeks to be sure she had all the pieces. The only reason I sent your crew in there was because that batch would have shipped before Commodore Tember’s fleet distributed the inoculation we developed.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” said Mal.

The general didn’t speak for a moment. “I admire your ability to read people,” she finally said. “And I commend your nigh-impeccable gut instinct. However, to borrow your phrase, you are not the first man to make a mistake. Please understand that I withheld information not to slight you nor to imply that I do not hold you in the highest regard. It’s simple, Mal,” she said with a defeated shrug. “The fewer people know about this, the better.”

“I’ve heard that before from you,” said Mal. “You remember how it ended.”

Merlin winced as Albia’s stare grew colder.

“We need the Alliance to believe that the attack on that particular warehouse—just one of many such attacks—was random chance,” said Albia. “They need to believe that their scientists made a mistake with the bacteria.” Albia circled the holographic map, her keen dark eyes tracking tiny pinpoints of light that played across the surface. “Otherwise, River’s position could be compromised. Do you understand, Mal? You have the privilege of being open and trusting with your crew, and I wish I could do the same, but it’s not always an option for me.”

“I certainly do understand,” said Mal. “Don’t mean I agree.”

“You don’t have to agree, Captain,” Albia said. Mal looked slightly wounded at her pulling rank, but he didn’t respond. “Inara indicated in her most recent message that she has found some unexpected information,” Albia continued. “She was unable to send the information directly to us. She did, however, imply that you and your crew would be especially interested in it. As such, your leave has been extended by an additional forty-eight hours. After that time, you will be briefed on your next mission.” And just like that, they were dismissed.

“That went a mite better than I expected,” Mal said as they made their way to the front door.

“We got off easy, all things considering,” agreed Arthur. “I could have sworn she’d demote you, Merlin.”

“She can’t do that,” Mal said. “We ain’t soldiers, just auxiliary support. She gets no say in who does what on my ship.”

Merlin shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about his misuse of magic more than necessary. “So, what are the two of you planning for the evening?” he asked to change the subject.

“The Blue Siren’s always good for a pint,” Mal said. “Figured I’d head there for the evening. Meet up with the rest of the crew, maybe.”

Arthur groaned at the mention of Mal’s favorite pub on Ugarit. “Are you sure we should go there after what happened last time?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Mal. “Besides, that musician—what was his name? Oh, Martin, that was it. He got all his _gorram_ cards back.”

“No way that crowd’s still here,” said Merlin. “They had the look of nomads. The Blue Siren sounds good to me.”

“You never could handle your drink,” Arthur said, throwing a friendly elbow to Merlin’s side.

Merlin dodged out of the way, but he stumbled on a stray pebble. “You haven’t seen me get properly drunk in some time,” he said over Mal and Arthur’s laughter.

“True enough,” Arthur said through his laughter. “Has your tolerance improved at all?”

“Not much,” Merlin admitted.

“I’m buying, then.”

\---

A few hours later found the whole crew of _Serenity_ at the Blue Siren. The interior was decorated with a single, vast mural that stretched over all the walls, depicting a stormy seascape. The pub’s namesake, a mermaid with a fabulous blue tail who lounged on a rock calling to unfortunate sailors, had a wall all to herself. It was rougher around the edges than the upscale bars Merlin had grown to prefer on Earth-That-Was and the inner planets, but something about the dark paneling and macramé-and-seashell decorations always felt welcoming.

Mal had sent a quick transmission to the rest of the crew, who were already there by the time he, Arthur, and Merlin arrived. Simon and Zoë had pushed three round, age-darkened tables together to accommodate everyone, and Kaylee had snaffled several bowls of bar snacks from nearby booths.

“And then, I swear to you,” Mal said over the uproarious laughter of his crew, “she said ‘take me, sir. Take me hard’.”

“And what did Jayne say?” Arthur asked.

“He said it was, and I quote, ‘downright unsettlin’,” said Zoë. “Which I, for one, completely agree with.”

“Ahh, it worked, though, didn’t it?” Mal said, shaking his finger. “After that, Wash knew. He understood.”

“Yeah, he did,” said Zoë. She raised her tankard before taking another swig, and Mal followed suit. A brief silence descended on the group as they remembered their fallen crewmate, and Arthur and Merlin glanced at each other. Merlin just shrugged his shoulders at the unasked question in the furrow of Arthur’s eyebrows, the tilt of his head. Merlin hadn’t known Wash either, and Zoë rarely talked about him. The longest explanation of the late pilot’s passing Merlin had ever gotten was when Jayne had gotten too drunk after a mission gone wrong. He had broken down, sobbing about Reavers and the claustrophobia of being trapped in a tiny hot room, death only a few inches of metal distant. Soon after, he had been reassigned away from _Serenity_. Merlin wasn’t sure, but he suspected that Jayne himself had requested the transfer.

“So, what’s our new mission, cap’n?” Kaylee asked a moment later.

“Not sure yet,” said Mal. His voice was rough but steady. “The general said it’ll have something to do with information that Inara is bringing in a few days. Our leave has been extended until Flavia can put together a plan.”

Kaylee, Simon, and Zoë glanced at each other. ‘That’s a lot of leave, cap’n,” Zoë said. “Is there anything we should be doing?”

Mal leaned back in his chair, which gave off a worrisome groan. “Rest. Relax. Help the clerks at the intake bay process the gear we pulled from that Alliance cruiser, if you really want to. I suggest you enjoy this place while you can. I conjure the general will be moving her headquarters to a different planet soon, and as Flavia goes, so goes our nation.” He waved his tankard in Merlin’s direction. “Ugarit’s been our home for too long anyway. I’m surprised Flavia has stayed here as long as she has.”

“Any idea where HQ will be next?” Simon asked.

Mal snorted. “I doubt even the general knows at this point. But it’s important to keep our base of operations moving. That woman thrives on secrets, and she’ll do whatever she can to keep a step ahead of the Alliance.”

Arthur made a show of checking Merlin’s mug of beer. “Merlin here has only had half his drink,” he exclaimed. “I, for one, think our esteemed pilot should catch up with the rest of us. It’s only sporting, isn’t it? Go on, then.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and drained his beer in a few swallows, and Arthur clapped him on the back when he was done. Warmth spread behind Merlin’s ribs, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or from Arthur’s touch.

“Good man,” Arthur said. “Now, who else needs a refill?”

Zoë and Mal held up their tankards, but Simon shook his head. “I’m done for the night,” he said. “Early start tomorrow.” He stood, and Kaylee joined him a moment later after finishing her drink.

“I wanna check the engine before the soldiers get their grubby paws all over her tomorrow,” said Kaylee. “The primary voltaxic ridge got a bit overheated when we chased down that Alliance cruiser.” She followed Simon out the door.

“You know, I don’t think that’s a real thing,” Mal said after Kaylee and Simon had left.

“Let them have their fun,” said Zoë. “Not enough love in the ‘Verse these days.”

“Kaylee’s never been shy about this kind of thing, is all I’m saying,” Mal said. “She don’t need to do this dance. It’s not like we don’t know about her and Simon.”

Zoë snorted. “They never made a secret of it. Hell, half the base knows, the way those two look at each other.” Her eyes flicked from Arthur to Merlin and back, and Merlin felt a flush rise in his cheeks.

Arthur collected the empty tankards. “Merlin, help me carry?” he called back as he made his way to the bar.

Merlin obliged. “I’ve seen you carry twice as many goblets in one hand,” he said as the bartender filled the tankards with a dark, foamy brew.

“I needed to talk to you,” Arthur said. “Somewhere Mal won’t hear.”

“I’m pretty sure the captain can read lips,” said Merlin. A lucky man the captain was to have an excuse to stare at Arthur’s lips.

Arthur switched to Brythonic. “ _I’m worried about the state of the army_.”

Merlin leaned on the counter and pretended to peruse a menu. “ _I am, too_ ,” he said. “ _I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up. We need a real victory. Something decisive_.”

“ _Something that we can make into a symbol_ ,” Arthur agreed. “ _Maybe this information from Inara could help. If it’s so sensitive that she can’t even send it over a wave, it must be important_.”

Merlin frowned. Something was bothering him, but before he could speak, Mal interrupted from his spot at the table. “I was promised another drink!” the captain called.

“ _Always good to chat_ ,” Arthur said. He grabbed half the mugs of beer and made his way back to the crew. Merlin, as was his custom, followed.

“Any plans for tomorrow, Arthur?” Mal asked as Arthur set a beer in front of him. He continued without giving Arthur a chance to reply. “Didn’t think so. I want you on the training field with the soldiers. Do something inspiring. Give them a rousing speech. I don’t know, just something to get morale up. Zoë, I’ll need you to supervise tomorrow’s intake procedures.”

“Aye, sir,” said Zoë. “I’m sure Kaylee will want to help. She thinks these men don’t know their ass from a monkey wrench.”

“Ah, well, she ain’t all wrong, is she?” Mal said. “Merlin, you’ll be with Simon tomorrow.”

“If you can pull him away from Kaylee, that is,” Arthur interrupted.

Merlin snorted into his beer, and Mal cracked a smile. “I swear, the doctor spends more time with Kaylee or thinking up ridiculous— _spells_ —than he does actually doctoring, but some of his ideas ain’t half bad,” said Mal. “His latest one had something to do with time, I think. Wasn’t really paying attention, but from what I understand, that’s one of your areas of expertise.”

“Yessir,” Merlin said.

“It will be good to see Inara again,” the captain mused. “And Jayne, though I don’t believe we’ll be seeing much of him.”

“Why not?” asked Arthur.

“The general has some plan for him,” said Mal. “Special training for an infiltration mission with River, all very hush-hush.”

“What did she tell you about it?” Merlin said.

Mal took a gulp of his beer before replying. “Not much. It’s more about what she ain’t said than what she did, if you catch my meaning.”

“And River—how’s she doing?” asked Simon.

“Flavia didn’t say,” Mal said. “But I figure she’s doing just fine if she’s infiltratin’.”

“The general asks too much of her,” Simon groused.

“She volunteered for this, son,” said Mal. “Nobody’s puttin’ her up to anything she don’t want to do. ‘Sides, you’re the one who cleared her for this kind of mission.”

Simon frowned but didn’t disagree.

“What was the Unification War like?” Arthur asked. “I mean, I’ve read the histories and studied the strategies, but what was it like?”

Merlin blinked at the abrupt shift in topic. Arthur must have been mulling over his question for a while. He knew that Arthur had had some trouble adapting to the new styles of warfare; some of the things they had seen during the past two years had been shocking, even for seasoned veterans.

“The best word for it I can think of is _explosive_ ,” Mal said after a moment. “The Alliance attacked. We responded with everything we had. They just… had more.”

“It was brutal,” Zoë added. “Growing up in the slums or on the Rim, you think you know brutality. You get used to violence. This was something else. The Alliance were righteous in their violence, the way only men who hold deep convictions can be.”

“They truly believed that they were in the right,” said Merlin. “They attacked colonies that had no hope of defending themselves. They developed technology faster. They had more men, and they had all the resources they needed to turn those men into soldiers.”

“How did it feel at the end?” asked Arthur.

“Felt like this,” Mal said gruffly. “We knew early on that we had no real chance of winning. Some of us had faith, though, right up until there weren’t no more room for faith.”

Arthur reached over to clap the captain on the shoulder. “It’s different this time,” he said.

Zoë coughed out a mirthless laugh. “Why, because now we have you?”

“No,” Arthur said. He slung his free arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “Now, you have _us_.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m damn lucky,” said Mal. “You’re both good soldiers and good men, but those didn’t win us the war last time, and I can’t conjure why it should now.”

“Destiny,” said Merlin. He hiccupped, and Mal raised an eyebrow.

“Destiny,” the captain repeated. His eyes flicked between the two of them: Arthur with a tipsy smile on his face and Merlin with his cheeks flushed red with drink. “If _destiny_ is your great plan to win this war, we may as well surrender now and save a few million lives.”

“You don’t understand,” Arthur said. “It’s my destiny to rise again in the hour of Albion’s greatest need. Well, I have risen.”

“Your Albion is long gone,” said Mal. “And my Albion is a central Alliance planet. It’s doing just fine under present conditions.”

“It’s not about the place.” Arthur leaned back in his chair and pulled Merlin closer, as if to punctuate his next words. “It’s about the people. _My_ people.”

“ _Your_ people?” said Mal. “Not three years ago, you were dead, and now you’re a fighter in _my_ command. How d’you figure they’re your people?”

“Prophecy,” Merlin said around another hiccup. Arthur didn’t take his arm from around Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin leaned his head back to rest in the angle of Arthur’s elbow.

“Feeling alright, there?” Arthur murmured, his lips just an inch from Merlin’s ear, and Merlin nodded happily.

Mal sighed. “Right. Well. I’m sure prophecies were all well and good when you didn’t have electricity or running water, but we live in a different world. _Prophecy_ just ain’t enough.”

“This one’s different,” Merlin insisted. “This one’s real.” Arthur nodded in agreement.

Mal’s fingers brushed the hollow of his throat. “Sorry, boys. I just can’t believe any more in things I can’t see.”

“You didn’t believe in magic either,” said Merlin. He tilted his head, and his eyes flashed gold. “Now look where we are.”

“The world is vaster and stranger than you can imagine,” said Arthur.

Mal snorted. “Son, I’ve been flying this ‘Verse for longer than you’ve been alive. Both times. I suggest you don’t lecture me about strange.”

“You’ve never met anyone like Arthur, cap’n, don’t pretend like you have,” Merlin said. He closed his eyes again and basked in the warmth radiating from Arthur’s body. “He’s not just a good man. He’s not just another soldier.” He tried to take another drink, but most of his gulp splashed down his shirt and onto the table. “Arthur is a king. He’s the once and future king.”

Zoë spoke up for the first time in a while. “I think he’s had enough.”

“Agreed,” Arthur said. He tugged the tankard out of Merlin’s hands and finished it off. “Time for bed. I took care of the tab earlier,” he said to Mal.

Mal nodded and settled back in his seat. “I think I’ll stay for a bit longer,” he said. “We know a few of the folks here.”

Merlin wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders as Arthur hauled him out of his seat. Arthur rolled his eyes but shifted his grip to Merlin’s waist nonetheless. “Never could hold his alcohol, this one,” Arthur said.

Mal nodded in agreement. “I’d noticed. You’d reckon after almost two thousand years he’d develop some sort of tolerance.”

“Maybe it’s a sorcerer thing,” said Arthur. “Anyway, I think Merlin is likely to fall asleep on his feet if we stay much longer. See you tomorrow.”

The air outside was cold and crisp, and Arthur tilted his face up to the sky. He missed the constellations of Earth-That-Was, as he was supposed to call it, but he still loved the strange stars. He thought of Gwen and pictured how beautiful she would have looked with a star bound upon her brow like one of the elves in that book Merlin insisted on reading to him. Why was it called _Lord of the Rings_ , Arthur mused, when the main character only had one ring and wasn’t even all that lordly besides? He supposed he would find out later in the book. The image of Merlin crowned in light came to him then, unbidden. At some point in time, two thousand years gone, Arthur might have found the thought ridiculous. Now, though, the image he held in his mind had an otherworldly, frail beauty, like something he desperately longed for that remained just out of his grasp.

He thought Merlin was beautiful.

Huh. When had that happened?

Long ago, Arthur realized, maybe even before his death, and if that wasn’t a revelation that warranted further musing accompanied by judiciously-applied alcohol, he wasn’t sure what was.

“I meant it, you know,” Merlin slurred.

Arthur startled out of his reverie. “You meant what?”

“You’re not just another soldier.”

Arthur sighed. “I have to be. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of room for kings out here.”

“Maybe,” said Merlin. He stumbled but caught himself against Arthur. “But don’t lose sight.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Arthur said. He chuckled. “Just out of curiosity, what exactly shouldn’t I be losing sight of?”

“Who you are,” said Merlin. He rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur could see all the strange constellations reflected in Merlin’s blue, blue eyes.

Arthur shoved down any uncomfortable feelings he may have felt about wanting to gaze into his best friend’s eyes forever. “That is probably the worst advice you’ve ever given me,” he said instead. “And that’s saying something.”

They passed by a stone bench in the middle of the city square. “Here, let’s sit,” said Merlin. “Just for a moment. It’s a nice night.”

“You’re drunk,” Arthur said, but he sat anyway.

“This is a beautiful place in the world,” Merlin said as he tilted his head to the sky.

Arthur glanced around at the dilapidated buildings. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You don’t believe me,” said Merlin. “Here, let me show you.” He reached up to touch Arthur’s temple, and his eyes flashed gold.

Arthur’s vision grew blurry for a moment, then sharpened. He looked again at the town around him. Something was different this time. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly. The houses had an extra dimension, some rich history of sorrow and joy embedded into the stone. If he just brushed his fingers against a building, maybe he could _feel_ … He gazed at a tree, and he remembered every stage of its life, from a sprouting seed to a withered husk. Merlin gleamed beside him, an ethereal crown of ivy resting in the curls of his hair. _Beautiful_. Arthur tried to touch the glossy leaves, but his fingers sank through and into Merlin’s hair. The stars above seemed to blossom and age before his eyes, and he understood with piercing clarity just how fragile, how temporary, his life was in the face of those aging stars. It reminded him too much of how it had felt to be wounded and bleeding to death. He slapped Merlin’s hand away from his temple.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked, his eyes bright and concerned.

“Never do that again,” said Arthur. His voice sounded harsh and distant to his own ears, and he willed his hands to stop shaking. “That—that wasn’t— _never again_ , do you understand?”

Merlin shrank in his seat. “I understand.”

Arthur stood. “I need to get to bed.” He strode away into the night and didn’t look back.


	3. Weary Souls

Merlin awoke far too early for his liking, though thankfully without a hangover. He vaguely remembered getting back to the barracks, one arm around Mal and another around Zoë. But why had he walked back with them and not with Arthur? Something about a bench and Arthur… Merlin groaned and covered his eyes with his arm as he remembered. He had tried to show Arthur the beautiful vision the magic gave him, the way it let him peer through time and space. Merlin had wanted to give Arthur hope by letting him see himself not just as he was and had been, but how Merlin saw him: a glorious warrior-king crowned in gold and triumph. What Merlin hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t even considered, was that Arthur might not want to see himself that way.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as Merlin made his way to the hospital building. Despite the early hour, Simon was already in the private laboratory that Mal had strong-armed General Albia into granting him. Merlin did his best to push aside all thoughts of Arthur, though he was not very successful.

“Mal said you had a new spell for me?” Merlin said by way of greeting.

Simon jumped in his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Er, yes, I have an idea that may turn out to be useful.” He stood and paced the length of the small room. “In the past, when we worked on your ability to manipulate time, we focused on slowing it down on a large scale.”

Merlin nodded. Simon had put him through rigorous tests until he was able to stop bullets in midair or slow down time within a large area around him.

“Now, I’d like to focus on the opposite. I want to see if you are able to speed up time, but in a very small area.”

Merlin considered the idea. “I haven’t had much practice with speeding up time at all, to be honest,” he said. “Let alone being precise about it.” In truth, Merlin still felt muzzy and distracted; his mind kept replaying the events of the previous night against his will and adding to his list of regrets. It was not a state that was conducive to delicate spellcasting.

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” said Simon with a thin smile. “I have a few ideas on how we can go about this.” He grabbed a flowerpot filled with moist soil from a nearby shelf and placed it on the table. “This contains a few seeds of rather hardy strain of grass that doesn’t require much in the way of water or nutrition. Even so, I’ve added some fertilizer to the soil, so it should have everything it needs. I’d like you to speed up time within the flowerpot, please.”

“We should probably step away,” Merlin said. “I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to focus the magic this first time.”

Simon nodded, and Merlin followed him to the far wall of the laboratory. “Whenever you’re ready,” said Simon.

Merlin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. For the most part, he had moved beyond needing to speak spells to shape his magic, though he still found them helpful. Incantations took away some of the mental energy required in working magic, but they didn’t allow for the flexibility that Merlin often needed. Magic ran through his veins. He was abruptly reminded once more of the previous night when he had pushed that magic into Arthur and made him see, and he nearly lost his focus. Merlin ended the spell instead of allowing it to run rampant.

“Anything?” Simon asked.

Merlin opened his eyes and checked the flowerpot. “Nothing. Let me try again.” He stood next to Simon once more and let the magic flow from him, not just a spark this time but a steady beam. He lost focus again, but he set his jaw and wrested the magic back under his control. When he examined the flowerpot, he thought at first that he had failed once more. But no, there was something in the pot: three long, desiccated strands of fiber.

“You did it,” said Simon. He eyed Merlin oddly. “Is everything alright? You seem… angry.”

“I’m fine.” Merlin dug his fingers into the now-dry soil, ripping out the ends of the root system.

Simon frowned. “We don’t have to continue this if you don’t want to.”

“I said I’m fine,” Merlin snapped. “Do you have any more seeds?”

Simon pulled a sachet from his pocket and considered it. “It took me months to save up for this,” he said. “I’ve been moonlighting in the hospital here on base whenever we’re on leave, and I’ll do odd jobs for the colonists and frontiersmen when we go out on missions. I’ve even taken to selling my rations at times.” He tossed the sachet from hand to hand. “This represents a significant investment of my time and abilities. I believe it to be a good one, so I’m sure you can imagine that I’d be rather unhappy if the reason for my investment—” he offered the sachet to Merlin “—decided to squander it.”

Merlin took the packet of seeds and turned it over in his hands. The realization dawned on him that he had been very ungrateful indeed.

Simon smiled as though he knew exactly what Merlin was thinking. He probably did. That man was too smart for his own good. “Is this about the argument you had with Arthur?”

“What do you know about that?” asked Merlin. The idea of Arthur airing out their private grievances hurt him more than he wanted to admit.

Simon leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. “We talked about it last night, before you got back.”

“I didn’t know you were such good friends,” Merlin said. He couldn’t look directly at Simon, so he stared instead at the pattern on Simon’s knit sweater.

“We’re not so different.” Simon gave a little half shrug. “We both had to adapt very quickly to a part of the ‘Verse that has no use for us. Hell, I still feel out of place more often than not, and _Serenity’s_ been my home for the past five years.”

Merlin looked down at the seeds clutched in his hand and sighed. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “I’ll fix things, and then I’ll try your spell again.”

Simon nodded, and Merlin turned to leave. “Merlin…” the doctor said, a warning in his voice. “My investment, if you please.” Merlin tossed him the sachet of seeds and left the hospital in search of Arthur.

\---

“I’m sorry, okay?” Merlin shouted at Arthur’s retreating back. “I know I fucked up, and I’m sorry.” Arthur didn’t turn around, and Merlin flopped onto his bunk in the barracks with a dejected sigh. He had been trying to talk to Arthur for the past day, but Arthur had responded only with glares and one “fuck off, Merlin, I’m busy.” He wasn’t sure if Arthur had said anything about the situation to Mal, but the captain hadn’t tried to intervene. Merlin had been hoping that Inara’s imminent arrival and their mission briefing afterward would convince Arthur to at least hear him out, but Arthur seemed as determined as ever to cold-shoulder Merlin.

A soldier in messenger’s livery rapped her knuckles against the open door of the barracks, and Merlin sat up. “Message from General Albia for Merlin Emrys,” she said.

“That’s me,” said Merlin. He fished around in his pockets for loose change.

“Inara sent a wave,” the messenger recited. “She’s due in an hour. Please await further instructions. Any returning message, sir?”

“Just message received,” said Merlin. He tipped the messenger and dismissed her with a nod before fishing a book out from under his bed.

About ten minutes later, Mal wandered into the barracks, dripping with sweat. Merlin supposed he must have been training with the soldiers. “Oh, good, I’ve been looking for you,” the captain said as he stripped off his damp shirt. “I’ve a few things I want to say.”

Merlin closed his book with a frown. He had a feeling he knew what was on Mal’s mind.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Arthur,” said Mal without further preamble. “But you’d best get it sorted before we’re in the sky again. Flavia’s dropped hints that this next mission is going to be big, and I can’t have tensions in my crew. Simon and Kaylee are bad enough.”

“He won’t even talk to me,” Merlin said with an exasperated sigh. “I’ve tried to apologize, but he won’t listen.”

Mal hooked his thumbs through the loops of his belt, still bare-chested. “Well, son, that don’t sound like my kind of problem. I don’t much care who’s right and who’s wrong here. If you can’t fix this, I can’t trust you two to work together in the field.”

“Arthur’s the one who won’t even try to work it out,” Merlin said. “Why aren’t you lecturing him about it?”

“How do you know I haven’t?” Mal dampened a cloth in the sink and began scrubbing himself down.

“Sir, I’m a bit worried about Inara’s information,” Merlin began, but before he could continue, Arthur stormed into the barracks.

“I beg your pardon, captain, but what exactly was so important that you just had to—” Arthur broke off as he noticed Merlin. “Oh no. No, I am not doing this.” He turned to leave, only to see Mal slip out of the door and slam it shut. Arthur hammered his fists on the solid wooden planks to no avail. “Merlin, would you please—” He punctuated his request with one last thump on the door.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Merlin said. He turned back to his book.

Arthur spluttered with indignation. “What, were you _in on this_?”

Merlin shook his head without looking up. “Just as surprised as you are. I guess the captain thinks that we need to have words.”

“I don’t give a damn what the captain thinks,” said Arthur. He pulled his gun out of his shoulder holster. “There’s no words of yours that I want to hear. Use your _magic_ —” he spat the word like a curse “—to open this door, or I will shoot the hinges out.”

“Oh yes, brilliant idea,” Merlin said. He idly turned a page in his book. “Start shooting in the middle of a war camp filled with heavily armed soldiers. There’s no way _that_ could go wrong.”

Arthur stood frozen for a moment before sighing and stowing his pistol. He settled into a chair across the room from Merlin, staring down at his feet. “Fine, then. Say what you want to say.”

“Look, I—I didn’t mean to scare you, that other night,” Merlin said. He closed his book. “I just wanted to show you how I see you. I wanted to show you your future, your destiny. I didn’t realize it would frighten you. I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s head jerked up. “ _Frighten_ me? I’m not afraid. I’m _furious_. How dare you do that to me without asking?”

Merlin quailed in the face of Arthur’s anger. “I didn’t think you still had a problem with my magic. I’ve used it on you before.”

“Yeah, when I gave my permission,” said Arthur. “Do you see the difference, Merlin? Do you understand why I may not be especially happy with you using magic on me, _especially_ mind-altering magic, without my consent?”

Merlin’s heart dropped to his toes as he remembered the last time he influenced Arthur’s mind—over two millennia ago, in a hostile forest. It had been necessary, but he doubted Arthur saw it as anything more than a violation of the sanctity of his own mind.

“Yeah, now you get it,” said Arthur bitterly. He rose and moved to the door. “We’ve both said what we need to say,” he called through the keyhole. “You can let us out now.”

The door swung open to reveal Kaylee and Mal. “That was fast!” said Kaylee, but her cheerful smile faded when she saw the expression on Arthur’s face. Arthur pushed past her, and Mal didn’t try to stop him. “Did it work?” Kaylee asked Merlin.

Merlin shrugged and opened his book to a random page. “At least he listened this time.”

Kaylee sat at the foot of Merlin’s bed, looking pensive. “We couldn’t hear much,” she said after a moment. “But from what I caught, it sounded more like you were the one who needed to listen.”

“This is a conversation I want no part of,” said Mal, still shirtless. “Just get it sorted.”

“I can’t even count the number of times that Arthur’s had mind-altering magic used against him,” Merlin said after Mal’s footsteps had receded. “Not just him, either—everyone around him. Hell, _I’ve_ been magically mind-controlled at least twice.” He saw the look of alarm on Kaylee’s face. “It was no big deal, really. Just a different time, you know?”

“I guess there’s not as much risk of that anymore, huh?” said Kaylee. “Fewer sorcerers runnin’ about, muckin’ with people’s minds.”

Merlin slumped lower on the bed. “I hoped that he’d trust me, after all this time. I hoped he’d know I’d never hurt him.”

Kaylee patted Merlin’s knee. “I don’t give very good advice. Inara was always better at that sort of thing. But now you know why he was so hurt, and maybe you could try to apologize for that, ‘stead of whatever you think you did wrong.”

“If he ever listens to me again,” Merlin said.

“He will,” said Kaylee with confidence. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll convince Simon and the cap’n to sit on him until he does.”

Merlin had to chuckle at that mental image, and Kaylee smiled. “I should give him some time to cool off, though,” Merlin said a moment later.

Kaylee nodded. “Probably for the best. And maybe after that, you can tell him how you really feel about him.”

Merlin’s eyebrow twitched. “What.”

“Times like this, you never know when you’ll never get the chance to say something important ever again,” Kaylee said.

“I don’t know what you mean, in the very literal sense of _I have no idea what you just said_ ,” said Merlin. He drummed his fingers on the cover of his book. “Also, in the sense of _I don’t know what you’re talking about_.”

Kaylee just smiled at him. “Back on Miranda, when we all thought we were going to die, I had regrets. About Simon, I mean. We didn’t get together until afterward. You don’t want to be in that position, wonderin’ how things might have been different if you had been braver or more honest.” She chuckled. “Listen to me, lecturin’ you about this kind of thing. Ain’t you like two thousand years old? You should have this all figured out by now.”

“I really should,” said Merlin. “Everything feels different with him, though. It’s like the first time, all over again.” And it was, in a way. Arthur would always be the first in Merlin’s mind and heart; it had caused him much trouble through the centuries. Merlin had tried repeatedly to move on, to develop with others what he had had with Arthur. It had only ever ended in heartbreak.

“Why is that, do you think?” Kaylee asked.

“Because of our destiny,” said Merlin. “It changes everything. He’s been resurrected. Oh God, was he in heaven before he came back? Does he remember? I don’t even know. Something much greater than any of us has brought him back, and it must have some plan for him. Who am I to interfere?”

“If it’s destiny, it’ll happen whether you interfere or not, right? _All roads lead to Rome_ , and all that.” She considered for a moment. “I never realized what a strange saying that is. What’s Rome?”

“It’s a city on Earth-That-Was,” Merlin said. “It was old even back in Arthur’s time. I lived there for a while.”

“Was it nice?”

“For some.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Destiny shouldn’t interfere with your free will,” said Kaylee.

“Do I really have free will if all my choices lead to the same place?” Merlin fidgeted with his sleeve.

“Well sure,” Kaylee said. “Maybe the end result is the same and maybe not, but you still get to pick the path. Wash always said that the journey was more important than the destination, anyway.”

“You sell yourself short,” said Merlin with a small smile. “You give great advice.”

Kaylee checked her watch. “I gotta get back to the ship. The new parts I requisitioned should be delivered soon.”

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin said in response to Kaylee’s worried once-over. “I’ll think about what you said. I promise.”

Kaylee pursed her lips but left after one more glance at her watch. Not long after, Merlin tossed his book aside and gave up on getting any reading done. Instead, he brooded. That didn’t get him anywhere, though, so he decided he may as well practice a few difficult spells while he had the time.

That was why, when a messenger came to fetch him two hours later, Merlin’s hair had turned bright pink and feathers had sprouted from his ears.

“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear!” Merlin said over the sound of the messenger’s raucous laughter. “I’ll be there in a minute. Just don’t tell anyone!”

The messenger disappeared, still chortling, and Merlin set about undoing the glamours he had cast. That proved more difficult than he had anticipated, and he arrived in the war room ten minutes later than he was supposed to.

A visibly annoyed General Albia greeted him. “Good to have you here. I had some refreshments prepared…” she gestured at a table set against the far wall. Five cardboard boxes lined the wall, each with a crew member’s name on it. Merlin frowned when he saw that Arthur and Mal shared a box. “Unfortunately, due to your tardiness, I can’t guarantee that the rest of the crew has not eaten them all. Everyone, please sit.”

The crew of _Serenity_ sat themselves in chairs arranged in a semi-circle around the center of the room. Mal swiped a few more blueberry muffins from the refreshment table before taking his seat.

Albia opened her mouth to speak, but Kaylee piped up first. “General, if you don’t mind me asking,” Kaylee said, raising her hand. Albia raised an eyebrow, but she waved for Kaylee to continue anyway. “I was just wondering, where’s Inara?”

“Inara sustained a minor injury during the course of her assignment. Because she was undercover at the time, she was obligated to go to an Alliance facility for treatment. The injury will cause her no lasting harm,” Albia said as Mal leaped out of his seat. “However, I have received reports of the Alliance placing tracking devices within the bodies of people they suspect to be Independent agents, usually during medical or dental procedures. You may see her after we have determined that she has not been chipped.”

“Why are we here, then?” Zoë asked.

Albia smiled thinly. “Your captain has brought it to my attention that I sometimes play my cards too close to my chest. I don’t always know what I don’t know, and I benefit from having a team I trust led by a person like Mal.”

“Cheers, General,” Mal said from by the refreshments table. He shoved a biscuit in his mouth and grabbed two more.

Albia continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “As such, I believe I will need the expertise of each of you in the analysis of the information Inara retrieved. I have divided up the documents.” She indicated that the crew should retrieve their boxes, and she continued to speak over the ensuing scuffle of movement. “For Kaylee, blueprints of new Alliance ships. Some of these models aren’t even in the sky yet.”

Kaylee opened the box, her eyes wide. “This is real paper,” she said. She trailed a finger over the top page as though afraid to even touch it. “Where did you get so much paper?”

“I didn’t,” said Albia. “These are the original documents that Inara stole.”

Merlin eyed his own box of paper. “That’s why she couldn’t send it over a wave,” he said. “It would take ages to scan it all.”

Albia nodded. “Simon, I’ve given you some research materials on potential biological weapons and their treatments.”

“I’m a surgeon, not an epidemiologist,” Simon said as he opened his box. “But I’ll try to make sense of it.”

“Merlin, I’d like you to take a look at these more… esoteric research topics,” Albia said. Merlin shuffled through the first few pages and raised an eyebrow. _Esoteric, indeed_. “A lot of it went over my head, but at a glance, these documents appear to be related to the experiments conducted on River.”

“Psychic experiments?” Merlin asked.

Albia nodded. “Something of that sort. It seemed more up your alley.”

“Hang on,” Simon interjected. “If there’s anything in there that might help River, I want to look at it.”

“And of course, you should,” said Albia. “ _After_ you analyze the documents about bioweapons. River is, for now, healthy and safe. Duty first.”

Simon set his jaw and nodded.

“Arthur and Mal, I’d like you to work together,” Albia said. “I’ve given you information on scheduled troop movements, patrol and colonization plans, even some tidbits about tactics. It may mostly be things our scouts have already reported, but I’m hoping that you’ll be able to find something about long-term strategies in there.”

“Shiny,” Mal said. Crumbs sprayed from his mouth.

Merlin frowned. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. “Where did Inara get all this information from, exactly?”

“The specifics are classified,” Albia said. “I can, however, tell you that we have excellent reason to believe that these documents are genuine. The Alliance started using paper for their most sensitive information about ten months ago.”

“Right around the time River took control of their central AI hub,” said Simon.

“Exactly,” Albia said. “Believe me, we anticipated red herrings, and Inara went to great lengths to ensure the veracity of these documents. The Alliance obviously know we have this information; a necessary evil, in my opinion. I hope that we will find enough information to make it valuable nonetheless.”

Merlin’s fears were not entirely eradicated, but he didn’t want to push the point any further.

Albia continued speaking as though she had not been interrupted. “Zoë, you’ve got a bit of a mishmash of weapon prototypes. There’s bullet-and-powder guns, there’s lasers and rays, there’s anti-aircraft tech. If it shoots, there’s probably a blueprint for the latest version of it in there.”

“What exactly are you hoping I’ll find?” Zoë asked as she opened the box.

“Anything you think would pose a unique and significant threat to our current capabilities,” said Albia. “Before we conclude this meeting, I must tell you that none of this information is permitted to leave the war room. I ask that you do not remove any of the documents from this room, nor do you discuss the contents of those documents with anyone who is not in the room currently, Inara excepted. Any questions?”

“Did you give Inara anything to go through?” Zoë asked.

Albia nodded. “She found some files on active Alliance spies. I hope she will be able to identify ways they can be exploited.” She checked her watch. “I want you all to take the rest of the day to go through the files I’ve assigned you. Be prepared to report on anything we can use to gain a tactical edge or anything that might be especially dangerous.”

“It just seems a bit convenient, don’t you think?” Merlin asked Simon after the general concluded the meeting. The others had dispersed around the war room, dragging their chairs into the corners and spreading their documents across the floor. Merlin tried not to be too jealous of the way Arthur and Mal tilted their heads together and spoke in hushed voices.

“What does?” said Simon.

Merlin waved his hand at the room in general. “All of this. How the information is suited just for our interests.”

“I think you’re reading too much into it,” Kaylee said. She positioned her chair beside Simon’s. “The general said that she sorted the papers for us.”

“She probably kept some of the papers for herself,” Zoë pointed out from a nearby corner. “She just gave us the stuff she thought we could deal with better than her, that’s all.”

“I still think there’s something weird going on,” said Merlin.

“You always think there’s something weird going on,” said Kaylee.

“Yeah, and I’m usually right,” Merlin said, but the others had all turned to their assignments. He sighed and shuffled through his papers.

Hours passed. Merlin wasn’t sure how many. He stood a few times to stretch and sneak looks at Arthur’s resolute shoulders, but Arthur never caught his glances. The war room didn’t have any natural light, but the gas lamps on the walls seemed to grow tired as the evening wore on into night. Eventually, Merlin came to the end of his box of documents. Two piles of paper sat before him: one small and tidy, and another much larger and messier. He dropped the messy pile unceremoniously back into its box and turned his attention once more to the remaining documents. He reread the parts he had underlined earlier, his pencil caught between his teeth.

_Partial stripping of the right amygdala combined with full stripping of the left amygdala has yielded surprising results_ , Merlin read from the top page. _Subject 3.04 has demonstrated strong but controllable reactions to both reward and punishment. Consequently, 3.04 learns quickly, but is more biddable than Subject R.T_.

_R.T.=River Tam?_ Merlin scrawled in the margin. Then, below: _3 or more types of surgeries?_

“Have you found anything yet?” Simon asked from behind Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin jumped. He hadn’t heard Simon approach.

“Maybe,” said Merlin. “Look at these.” He shoved the small pile of documents over to Simon. “I’ve underlined anything we didn’t already know about the experiments.”

Simon flipped through the pages. He barely reacted, but Merlin could see his excitement behind his impassive mask. “ _Disinhibition of axonal regrowth and remyelination…_ ” Simon read. “ _After the glial scar was eliminated, some regeneration of proximal segments occurred, possibly due to the more permissive environment. Further studies required_.” A wide grin split his face. “Do you know what this means?”

“Er… no?” said Merlin.

Simon clutched at the papers like a lifeline. “It means I can heal River. _Really_ heal her, permanently and completely, not just this regimen of partial treatments we’ve been doing.”

Arthur gave a shout of excitement. Merlin thought at first that he had heard Simon’s announcement, but Arthur was instead brandishing one of his own papers with a wide grin. “I think I found something!” Arthur said.

“Let me take a look,” said Mal, and Arthur handed over the paper. As Mal perused the document, his frown changed into a look of panic. “The general has to see this immediately.” He almost ran out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“What did you find?” Merlin asked.

“Battle plans,” said Arthur. He didn’t look at Merlin as he spoke. “It had the time and date of a proposed attack on one of our planets, along with a general’s confirmation.”

“When? Where?” asked Zoë.

“Three months,” Arthur said. “Beaumonde.”

So little time… Merlin always felt like he was running out of time nowadays.

General Albia strode into the room, and Mal followed a second later. She held the paper Arthur had found and read it as she walked. “Have you found any more information relating to this attack?” she asked without looking up from the document.

“Not yet,” Arthur said. “I still have some more papers to get through.”

“You’ll need to revisit the papers you’ve already looked through, of course,” said the general. A brief look of annoyance crossed Arthur’s face, but Merlin doubted anyone else noticed it. “I want as much information on this as possible. We need every advantage we can get.” She pinned the paper to the wall of the War Room and turned to face the crew. “You’ve done well today, all of you,” she said. “It’s late now. You’re dismissed, though if you want to continue searching for information, I won’t stop you. I expect you all back here tomorrow by no later than 0700.” Albia strode to the doorway, but she paused and looked back at Mal. Some unspoken communication passed between them, and Albia disappeared down the hall.

“Right, then, I’m knocking off for the night,” Zoë said as she dropped her documents back into their box.

“Me too,” said Kaylee. “My eyes are so fuzzy I can barely see my own hand in front of my face.” She waved her hand in front of her face to demonstrate.

The others left one by one, each making their own excuses, until Merlin stood alone in the War Room. Arthur was the last to leave. Merlin had thought for a moment that he was going to say something, but Arthur stepped silently through the doorway after a slight pause. Merlin glanced at his own pile of papers, sighed, and decided that he wasn’t going to get anything productive done for the rest of the night. The hallway was mostly dark, save for a slightly-opened door that spilled light from underneath. Muffled voices seeped under the door, and Merlin heard his name. He raised his hand to knock, but something made him hesitate. He muttered a spell instead and leaned against the wall.

“...postpone your mission, of course.” Merlin recognized Albia's voice. “I'm going to need every person I can get for this defense. Beaumonde is crucial. If we lose it, we lose the war.”

“I understand the nature of your dilemma.” That must be Mal. “But I promised certain members of my crew that they'd never see open combat. I don't intend to break my promise.”

“Well, that wasn't a very wise thing to do,” said Albia. She sounded amused.

“Come on, Flavia. You know Kaylee. You think you can get her battle-ready in three months? She can hold her own in skirmishes, but not a full-on battle. And Simon's not squeamish, but he tends to lose his head in a fight.”

“I know,” Albia said. She heaved a sigh. “But I'm not sure what else to do with your crew.”

“Put us in transportation,” said Mal. “Or turn my ship into a triage bay. Hell, I'd even be willing to take over guard duty for another ship across the 'Verse.”

“I’m not wasting Merlin’s powers on guarding a barren rock with a few thousand colonists,” Albia said. “I need him on Beaumonde.”

Mal didn’t reply. Merlin strained his ears, and he heard the faint sound of clinking glass and two drinks being poured.

“Please don’t split us up,” Mal said after a moment. “No one understands _Serenity_ like we do.”

“I won’t,” said the general. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you. But I’ll keep your crew together, and I’ll keep Kaylee and Simon out of combat.”

“And Inara?” asked Mal.

“And Inara.”

Mal poured two more drinks. “Any chance we’ll be seeing River or Jayne?”

“Maybe Jayne,” Albia said. “I can assign him to your crew for the defense effort. River, though… no. She’s far too valuable where she is. Bringing her back early would have… consequences. If, heaven forbid, Beaumonde should fall, River’s current position will be even more vital.”

The voices beyond fell into silence. Merlin tilted his head toward the door. When Albia spoke again, her voice was muffled, as though her face were pressed against something soft. “I just don’t know what to do,” she said. It almost sounded like a sob, and Merlin felt very much like an interloper. “Three months, Mal. Three months to defend Beaumonde from the entire Alliance fleet. If I had twice as long, it still wouldn’t be enough time.”

Merlin slipped away. He had no business listening in on such a tender, vulnerable moment, and his own findings could wait. He sought out Arthur instead. Ugarit nights were usually balmy, and this one was no exception. Merlin didn’t mind wandering the little dusty town, and as he wandered, he thought. Despite his and Arthur’s assurances that night at The Blue Siren—had it only been a few days ago? It seemed like much longer—Merlin had his misgivings about the ‘Verse that the new Independents fought for. Did Albia have a plan for if— _when_ —they won? Who would lead? How would they be chosen? Were Albia and her fellow generals, scattered across the stars, tyrants no better than the Alliance? Too many questions, and Merlin didn’t have the answers.

Nearly an hour later, Merlin had checked all of Arthur’s usual haunts: The Blue Siren, the rundown casino on the edge of town, even the training facilities, though he doubted he’d find Arthur there this late at night. Merlin was about to give up and go back to the barracks when he saw a familiar flash of golden hair. Arthur sat alone on a tiny balcony three floors up. Merlin eyed the building. A small hand-painted sign proclaimed the establishment to be “Talisman’s Alehouse— for the soothing of weary souls.”

Merlin ducked behind a convenient bush and let his human form melt away. He took to the sky and flew a quick loop around the alehouse. Once he had reassured himself that no prying eyes watched him, he perched on the wooden bannister that enclosed Arthur’s balcony.

Arthur’s eyes flicked to him then back to his drink. “I paid extra to have this spot to myself, you know,” he said. “Not really in the mood for company, Merlin.” His voice sounded rough, but his words were clear and fully-formed. He wasn’t drunk, then, but he was on his way.

“How did you know it was me?” said Merlin. He leaned against the balcony, once more a man.

“Starlings haven’t been introduced to this planet,” Arthur said without looking up from his drink. “You should go with a robin or a jay next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Merlin. Arthur still didn’t look at him. The silence stretched on, fragile and unbearable. “I came here to apologize,” Merlin finally said. Arthur looked up at that. “I… what I did, when I made you see what I can see… that was wrong of me to do. I should have asked you first. You deserve to have control of yourself—body and mind—and I’ll never take it away again. I swear to you. My—” Merlin’s voice cut off for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to say. “From the bottom of my heart, I apologize.”

Arthur closed his eyes as though in pain. “It’s going to take me a while to forgive you,” he said. “But… I can. In time.” He looked like he wanted to say more, so Merlin waited. “I’m not your king anymore, Merlin.”

“Of course you are,” said Merlin. “You always have been, and you always will be.”

“Do you ever miss it? Camelot, I mean,” Arthur said, his eyes still closed. “Sometimes I miss it so much I _ache_. I don’t know what to do out here. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

Merlin remembered the days soon after he had left Earth-That-Was, the sense of confusion and loneliness that had followed him everywhere. “It’s like being a ship unmoored and carried out to sea by the tide,” he said.

“Does it ever get better?” Arthur opened his eyes and faced Merlin fully for the first time in days. There was something dark in his regard.

Merlin tried to hold his gaze, but he only managed it for a few seconds. In the dim, silvery light, Arthur seemed strange, predatory. Merlin wasn’t sure if he liked it. “I think so,” he said. “It takes time, though.”

Arthur laughed at that. Maybe he was drunker than Merlin thought. “Luckily enough, you have all the time in the universe.”

_All the time in the universe_. It was a cruel joke.

“No,” said Merlin before he could stop himself. “I really don’t, actually.” He took a deep breath. “I’m dying, Arthur. Not anytime soon,” he hurried to add as Arthur looked up in alarm. “At least, I hope not. I’m just… aging again. I can feel it. My lot was to see the return of Albion’s once and future king.” He gestured to Arthur. “Well, I’ve done that.”

Arthur was silent for a long while after Merlin’s revelation. “We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?” he said finally. “So far from home.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that. Arthur wasn’t often maudlin.

“I still grieve for Camelot and all her people. Is that odd?”

Merlin found his voice. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not odd. It’s only been a few years for you.”

“And for you, it’s been thousands.” Arthur drained his drink. “Does anyone still remember their names? Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival? Guinevere?”

“There’s books,” said Merlin. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Um, a few legends.”

“But do people remember?”

Merlin shook his head. “Not many. Not anymore.”

Arthur stood and leaned against the balcony rail, shoulder to shoulder with Merlin. “We remember,” he said as he watched the stars. “Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe it’s time to let them rest.”

Merlin eyed Arthur’s empty flagon. “How many drinks did you have, exactly?”

Arthur hummed. “A few.” He shot Merlin a look. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, of course not,” said Merlin. “Still, it’s late. We should head back.”

Arthur nodded his assent, and Merlin followed him down to the main floor of the tavern. It was quieter than the Blue Siren, its atmosphere and patrons more subdued. A faint melody floated from a far corner, drifting through the hazy air. Most of the customers ignored the pair, save for one man who looked up in annoyance at the sound of passing footsteps. He had a thin, almost skeletal face, which split into a wide grin when he caught sight of Arthur.

“Arthur, my good man,” he said. “I don’t usually see you here this late. Do sit down.” He shoved aside a notebook covered in scribbles and a faintly-glowing glass computer readout. “Who’s your friend?”

“Roger, this is Merlin. He’s the pilot of the ship I’m on,” Arthur said. “Merlin, Roger. He’s an author.”

“Well, an author in the making, at least,” said Roger. “Until then, I’m just a guard.”

“What’s your book about?” Merlin asked. He had no true desire to do anything except get back to the barracks and sleep for at least ten hours straight, but asking seemed the polite thing to do.

“It’s a philosophical romance,” said Roger. He pulled a pipe and tobacco pouch from an inner pocket of his jacket, filled and lit the pipe, and took a long draw. “Though it’s been getting somewhat more morbid than I originally planned.”

“The horrors of war will do that, I suppose,” Arthur said. He glanced at Merlin. “I’ve been feeling rather morbid myself, recently.”

“Can I buy you fellows a drink?” Smoke puffed from Roger’s mouth as he spoke, and the bartender glared at him. He glared right back.

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” said Arthur. “We have an early start tomorrow. It was good to see you again, though.”

“Another time, then. I insist,” Roger said as Arthur stood. “Wait. Merlin. I like your name. Mind if I borrow it for my book?”

Merlin shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“ _Merlin_.” Roger scribbled a few lines in his notebook. “Maybe I’ll use that in a sequel.”

“Good luck with your book,” said Merlin as Roger bid them goodbye with a lazy wave of his hand. He followed Arthur out the door and through the pleasantly temperate night toward the barracks. “I’ve never been to that tavern before.”

“It’s a nice place,” said Arthur. “The Siren is great and all, but sometimes I want somewhere a bit… less.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Merlin said. They walked in silence for some time.

“Three months,” Arthur whispered a few minutes later. “Do you think we can do it?”

Merlin considered. “I don’t think we have much of a choice. Beaumonde is too important for us to lose. We’ve got to defend it with everything we have. Unless…” He trailed off.

Arthur half-glanced at him in the darkness. “Unless?” he prompted.

“Unless it’s a trap,” Merlin said. “Or maybe some kind of misdirection.”

“Not this again.” Arthur heaved a sigh. “Come on, Merlin. _Oh, let’s let an enemy see our battle plans but, surprise, the plans are fake_ … it’s the oldest trick in the book. _We_ did that more than once, back in the old days.”

Merlin didn’t feel especially reassured, but he let the matter drop. They had almost arrived at the barracks. The lights were all off inside, so he and Arthur had to fumble around in the dark as they prepared for bed. Merlin considered making a small light after he bumped his shin for the third time and earned an angry grumble from Simon, but he managed to end up in his bunk guided only by starlight from the narrow window. Arthur’s profile, angular and regal and outlined in silver, was the last thing Merlin saw before sleep took him.


	4. Over the Hills and Far Away

“We have a lot to accomplish in three months,” Albia said. She paced the length of the war room, and Merlin suppressed a yawn. He had stayed up late during the few nights following his talk with Arthur, combing over his pile of documents with Simon; the doctor searched desperately for anything he might use to help River. It had taken its toll on Merlin, though Simon looked no worse for wear. “I’ve spoken with the other generals, and we’ve decided to assume that the Alliance will go ahead with the attack, despite our knowledge of it. They have us outgunned and outmanned, and their General Oswald is a cocky bastard. He likes to strike when he knows he has the upper hand.”

“But what if they decide to attack at a different time?” said Mal. He leaned back in his armchair. “Or even a different planet?”

“River will be monitoring their communications. If their plans change, we will know.”

“But what if—”

“You’re mistaking this for a conversation, Mal,” Albia said. The words, though sharp, did not sound like a reprimand. “Your first mission will be to transport sensitive electronics to Delphi.”

“Why Delphi?” Zoë asked. “Seems a bit rural for that kind of thing.”

“We’re increasing Delphi’s manufacturing capacity,” said Albia. “The electronics are to be used in anti-aircraft guns. We don’t anticipate any Alliance presence in that area of space, but you’ll need to be careful. There’s not a lot of Fireflies still in the sky. Better to get there and back undetected.”

“Understood,” said Mal.

“At Delphi, you’ll pick up some more cargo to haul back. Protein, mostly. You’ll find the specifics in here.” Albia passed a palm-sized computer to Mal, who squinted at the screen.

“This is… surprisingly above-board,” Mal said. “It ain’t even illegal transport, really.”

Albia raised an eyebrow. “Smuggling electronics under the noses of the Alliance so we can more effectively wage war against them is _above-board_?”

“Well, no,” Mal admitted. “But doing it for a legitimate power and not for some backwater gangster who’s a bit too big for his britches makes it seem that way.”

“We’re still the rebels,” said Albia, amused. “We hardly represent a legitimate power.”

Mal shrugged. “Seems different, that’s all.”

Inara watched the exchange, something dark behind her eyes, and Merlin watched Inara. She had joined the rest of the crew in the War Room two days ago, her own box of documents in tow, and claimed a chair tucked away in a corner of the room. Mal had been uneasy around her at first, and she had responded with the kind of vicious little barbs that she knew just how to work under Mal’s skin. Just when the tension had reached a peak, Kaylee had pulled her chair over by Inara’s, plopped down, and gone right back to rummaging through her documents. Somehow, the small act of solidarity had cleared the atmosphere, and they were a united crew once more.

“You’re flying out tomorrow morning,” Albia said.

“That’s a day ahead of schedule,” said Zoe with a frown.

“And yet, almost two days behind your initial departure date,” Albia said. “Plans change, especially in the face of news like _that_.” She pointed to the ever-growing wall of information about the attack on Beaumonde.

“That does throw a wrench in the works,” muttered Zoë. She leaned back in her chair.

“Any questions?” Albia asked. No one spoke up. “Shiny. The handheld has information about planned Alliance patrols. Take some time today to plot a course. Merlin, come with me. I have some questions for you.”

Merlin shrugged in response to Mal’s questioning glance and followed Albia out of the room. She led him to the room where he had overheard her and Mal speaking, and he stepped inside at her gesture. “My office,” Albia said. It was not the sort of room that Merlin would expect to be her office, if he had thought about it. Instead of shelves of books and maps accompanied by spartan furnishing, the room was filled with plants. Potted decorative trees stood in the corners, hanging planters dangled from the ceiling, and one of the walls had been entirely covered by a magnificent nasturtium on a trellis, growing from a trough set into the floor. The wall opposite the door had been replaced with a floor-to-ceiling window. Merlin blinked several times. He was quite certain that rocky, barren Ugarit could not be home to such a lovely landscape. It rather reminded him of a wild English meadow, the kind he had trudged uncountable miles across in another lifetime.

“It’s not real,” said Albia, following Merlin’s gaze. “We pulled it out of an Alliance transport vessel a year and a half ago. Most of it went to the greenhouse on base, but I managed to salvage a few scraps for myself.” She sat down behind the age-darkened wood desk and indicated the chair opposite her. “Please, sit.”

Merlin sat. The chair was more comfortable than it looked, and he relaxed bit by bit.

“Tell me about the spell you used to demolish the warehouse on your previous mission.”

Merlin furrowed his brow. “It’s complicated, but the short answer is that I inscribe a series of runes, and they detonate at a certain time.”

“How do you determine the time between the creation of the runes and the time they detonate?” the general asked.

“That’s where it gets tricky,” said Merlin. “The runes are all one spell. They’re meant to be written as a single character. Breaking the character up makes it unstable. The more pieces it’s broken into, the less time it takes to explode.”

“How long can the single character last unbroken?”

“Almost indefinitely, if you carve it into stone or something. It’s not actually an exploding spell. Really, it’s just meant to focus energy, sort of? But if it’s split up, then the energy doesn’t flow through the rune properly, hence explosions.” Merlin demonstrated with his hands, but Albia didn’t seem to find his gestures especially helpful.

Albia sat back and frowned. “The spell in the warehouse—the runes detonated all at once, right?”

Merlin nodded. “The symbol isn’t activated until it’s whole. Before then, all the broken pieces are just lines. They can’t focus energy until the rune is complete.”

Albia started scribbling notes in a language Merlin didn’t recognize. “How many pieces can the symbol be broken into?”

“I’m not sure,” said Merlin. “The most I’ve done is ten, for the warehouse. I’ve noticed that the explosions get smaller as the number of pieces increases, though, which makes sense.”

Albia nodded absently. “What kind of energy does the rune focus?”

“Magic,” said Merlin. Albia looked up at him in annoyance, and he shrugged. “Well, it’s true. It focuses magic energy.”

Albia sighed. “Okay, what kind of energy causes the detonation?”

“Also magic, I think.”

Albia put her pen down and frowned into the air over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin knew not to disturb her when she looked like that, so he waited.

“I might be able to use that,” she said just as Merlin started to fidget. “Is there an upper limit to how far apart the broken pieces can be and still function?”

“I don’t think so,” said Merlin. Albia picked up her pen and waited. “Theoretically, maybe, but I haven’t noticed it get any less effective if the pieces are far apart. Magic’s not the same as other types of energy.”

“I can work with that,” Albia said, her pen flying across the paper. “During your downtime on this mission, try to find the highest number of pieces you can break the spell into while maintaining some potency. The explosions don’t need to be huge. I may only need a spark.”

“Yes, General.”

“Dismissed.” Albia didn’t look up from her notes as Merlin left the office.

Arthur was waiting for him alone in the war room. “I thought I’d help you plan our route,” he said, holding up the little handheld computer. A few button presses later, and a holographic map sprang up in the middle of the War Room. “What did the general want to talk about?” Arthur asked as he pulled up patrol schematics.

Merlin paced around the map, his brow furrowed. “She asked me about the spell I cast in the warehouse last mission,” he said. “I think she wants to use it for the defense.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Arthur. He fiddled with the map controls. “Look, maybe if we take a slight detour this way…”

It felt good to be back at Arthur’s side, planning a mission with him once again. It took a few hours to plot their course, and Merlin felt restless by the end. He was eager to get back in the sky.

“Let’s go for a run,” said Arthur after Merlin programmed the course into _Serenity’s_ navigation system. Merlin made a face. “Come on,” Arthur wheedled. “It’ll be fun. I’ll let you cheat.”

“It’s not cheating if you let me do it,” said Merlin. “And anyway, it’s not a competition.”

Arthur grinned. “That’s a yes, then?” He steered their steps toward the barracks.

“Yeah, alright,” Merlin said. He hid his grin as Arthur let out a whoop. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one with some extra energy to work off.

An hour later saw Merlin and Arthur at the edge of town just as Ugarit passed into the shadow of the much larger planet it orbited. The weather and winds had scoured their footprints from the last time they were here, but both were familiar with their route. Merlin felt something in his chest unclench as he stared across the rolling plains crisscrossed by dusty grey roads.

“Smells like rain,” said Arthur.

Merlin took a deep breath. Arthur was right; the air had an edge of ozone in it. “We’ll have to be fast then.”

“Ready?” Arthur said. Merlin nodded, and they ran.

Merlin lost himself in the rhythm of pounding feet, the sharp and dusty inhale-exhale, the tattoo of an exerted heart. One mile passed, then another two. Arthur gasped for air, and Merlin decided it was time to cheat. He shifted and fell forward. Arthur laughed wildly and lengthened his stride when he caught sight of Merlin’s new form. Their pace didn’t slow until they reached their destination, a saddle of rock overlooking a dried-up river.

“What was that?” Arthur asked, panting for air.

“Gazelle,” said Merlin after he shifted back to human form. “They’re from Africa, back on Earth-That-Was.” He waved his hand, and a small pocket of stone transformed into cold water. Arthur slurped it from his hands until Merlin pulled a collapsible water bottle from his pocket.

Merlin flopped onto his back and stared up at the darkened sky. He willed his heart to slow its racing. He still wasn’t used to the idea that each heartbeat brought him closer to death. He had confronted death countless times throughout his life — he had seen friends and family wither from old age — but it had been millennia since he had been reminded that he himself might fall prey to the same ailments.

Arthur sat down beside him, and Merlin only had half a second’s warning before Arthur doused his face in water. Merlin spluttered with indignation. “What the hell was that for?”

“You got a look in your eye,” Arthur said.

Merlin sat up and wiped his face on his shirt. “What kind of look?”

“The kind that means you’re thinking too hard.”

“Well, someone has to,” said Merlin.

“God save us all if that someone is _you_ ,” Arthur said, and he laughed and rolled out of the way as Merlin spelled the water to leap from its basin to splash him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and both men looked up. The already dim sky had darkened even further.

“We should head back,” Arthur said. “You know how storms can get out here.” Lightning flashed, striking down a bit too close for comfort, and Merlin nodded in agreement.

“Running back will be too slow.” Merlin shifted, and a massive black stallion stood in his place.

Arthur clambered onto a nearby boulder and swung his leg over Merlin’s back. Merlin snorted in annoyance as Arthur wound his hands into Merlin’s mane, but he took off at a canter as soon as Arthur was secure.

Rain pelted down in heavy silver curtains as Merlin galloped across the plain, and Arthur’s clothes were soaked through in seconds. He shivered, and the smell of ozone filled his nose. It was so sharply nostalgic that he almost wept. How many times had he gotten caught in a summer afternoon rainstorm while on patrol with his knights? Too many to count.

His knights… Arthur understood why Merlin didn’t want to talk about the past any more than necessary. He knew Merlin had dealt with his grief as best as he could, and long-healed wounds didn’t always warrant reopening. Arthur touched a hand to his breast where Mordred’s cruel blade had cut into him. When he had first awoken, his skin had been unmarred and fresh and ready for a new life. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He used to have a story etched onto his body of the life he had lived, proof of the man and king he had been. All his scars from the past were only in his mind, now.

And Merlin—what was he to do about Merlin? The long, frantic hours of preparation had kept Arthur from considering his newly-discovered attraction too deeply, but it was still there beneath the surface. It came bubbling up at the oddest times—Merlin sitting at the helm, focused and relaxed; Merlin eating beside him and laughing at Kaylee’s jokes; Merlin bright with power and his eyes flashing gold. Sometimes he thought Merlin felt the same way, and other times he was sure that he was deluding himself out of hope for what he could never have. Any torch Merlin may have once carried for him must be long since extinguished.

Arthur allowed himself to brood for a minute while Merlin’s hooves pounded against the earth, then pulled himself out of his reverie. Now wasn’t the time for melancholy, he told himself sternly. He couldn’t reminisce on might-have-beens while his future—and the future of his people, such as they were—were in danger. He had an impossible mission and not enough time to accomplish it.

Just like old times.

\---

“It’ll take us eight days to fly out to Delphi,” said Merlin. He pressed a few buttons on the navigation system, and _Serenity’s_ dashboard screen showed a map of their planned route. “Five days back. It’ll be a straight shot then.”

“You sure we can’t avoid that patrol some other way?” Mal asked.

Merlin nodded. “Arthur and I tried. This is the fastest way.”

“It’s a bit longer than I had hoped for,” said Mal with a sigh. “But that’s alright. We’re right on schedule for our departure time.”

“For once,” said Zoë. She swiped the ratty handkerchief that Mal always kept in his breast pocket, dabbed a few beads of sweat from her brow, and stuffed it back before Mal could protest. “Hold’s loaded and secure, sir.”

“Good work,” Mal said. “Flavia’s just informed me that Inara will be joining us for this mission. Not entirely sure _why_ , but I’m sure she’ll be able to make herself useful somehow.”

“Yes, I’m sure she will,” said Inara from the entrance to the bridge. She swept away in a flurry of silk before anyone could reply.

Zoë gave Mal a reproachful look.

“What?” asked the captain. “I didn’t say anything wrong. Did I?” Zoë rolled her eyes and strode after Inara. “Did I?” Mal repeated, turning to Arthur and Merlin.

Merlin just shrugged and turned back to the navigation system.

“I, uh,” stammered Arthur. “I oughta see that my stuff’s stowed properly.”

Mal sighed and flopped down in the co-pilot’s seat as Arthur hurried away. “I never know what to say around her,” he groused to Merlin. “Seems like everything I do just pushes her farther away.”

Merlin leaned back and put his feet up on the dashboard. “Well, sir,” he said carefully, “maybe you should just… talk to her. You know. Apologize.”

“Apologize?” Mal repeated. “I have nothing to apologize for. It’s not my fault she’s all…” he flapped his hand in the air. “You know.”

“I’m not so sure about that, cap’n,” said Merlin. “She didn’t exactly get the warm welcome she wanted—”

“Well, can you blame us after the way she just up and left?” Mal muttered.

Merlin ignored Mal’s interruption. “And she has been living under a false identity, surrounded by people who would kill her if they knew who she really is, for over a year now. That takes a lot out of a person. Maybe she doesn’t know how to act now that she doesn’t have to hide anymore. She probably feels like she’s lost some part of herself, and she doesn’t know if she can find it again.”

Mal stared at Merlin for a moment. “We’re still talking about Inara, right?”

“Of course, cap’n,” said Merlin with a smile.

“As much as I hate to say it, you may be right.” Mal heaved himself out of his chair. “Getting close to departure time,” he said. “I’m gonna make sure everything’s ready.”

Merlin fiddled with his headset as he waited. He double- and triple-checked the course he had set. He thumbed through an old spellbook he had squirreled away under the dashboard, his eyes barely taking in the magically-preserved words. Finally, just when Merlin supposed that Mal had tracked down Inara and apologized, and maybe Inara had murdered him for the impertinence, the captain reappeared.

“Take us out,” Mal said from the entrance to the bridge.

“This is _Serenity_ , requesting clearance for takeoff,” Merlin said into his headset.

The staticky reply came a moment later. “ _Serenity_ , you are cleared for takeoff.”

Merlin grinned and engaged the thrusters. The thrum of the reactor coming to life reverberated throughout the ship, and moments later, _Serenity_ was in the sky once more.

\---

“We’ll be passing within scanning range of an Alliance patrol today,” Mal said as the crew washed up after lunch. “We’ve had to go several days out of a straight path to minimize our potential contact with the bastards. I don’t want that effort to be in vain. Kaylee, you’ll go to hard burn about ten minutes before they spot us. Merlin will tell you when. Build up some momentum, then we’ll go dark. Basic life support in the bridge only. That means no grav, no comms, nothing. I want to show up on their scanners as nothing more than space debris. Any questions?” No one spoke, and the captain nodded once. “We’ll be dark for several hours. Bring food and warm clothes and anything else you think you might need. You won’t be able to leave the bridge until we’re out of range of the patrol.”

Merlin heard footsteps on the bridge a few minutes after he had settled back into the pilot’s chair. He looked up in surprise to see Inara, wrapped in a heavy shawl and carrying a bundle of fabric.

“I just brought a few things,” she said.

Merlin nodded. “We still have a few hours, though.”

“I know,” said Inara. “But I wanted to prepare early in case I forget anything.” She set her bundle down against the wall and hesitated.

“Would you like to sit?” asked Merlin after a moment of silence.

Inara nodded and sank into the copilot’s seat, but she didn’t speak.

Merlin broke the silence for her. “Happy to be back home?”

“I think so,” Inara said. “Though not everyone is pleased, it seems.”

“You know how Mal is,” said Merlin.

“A tactless brute who hides his true feelings by keeping the rest of us at arm’s length but who, behind his fragile veneer of masculinity, has unrevealed depths of emotion and drive?” The corner of Inara’s mouth twitched up in a quick half-smile.

“Something like that,” Merlin said with a huff of laughter. “Look, Inara—”

“I know you have suspicions,” said Inara in a rush. “I would, too, in your position. The details of my mission are classified, and I understand your reservations about putting your trust in information obtained under unknown circumstances.” She fell silent.

“But?” Merlin prompted.

“But what?” said Inara.

“Nothing,” Merlin said. “It just sounded like you were going to continue.”

“That’s really all I had to say.” Inara pulled her shawl more closely around herself. “I just wanted you to know that I get it. There’s enough tension on this ship already. I don’t want to be the cause of any more.”

Merlin took pity on her and decided the matter closed. “How’s Jayne doing?” he asked.

“He’s… well, I think. This work suits him.”

“That’s kind of surprising,” Merlin said.

Inara laughed. “I know. Who would have thought that Jayne of all people would take so well to covert operations? But he’s drinking less, from what I can tell, and I think he likes having something to focus on other than hurting people.” Inara slid down in her chair a little and tucked her feet under her body. “Has Mal said anything to you about River?”

“Not Mal,” Merlin said. “But I heard the general tell him that River would stay where she is, even for the battle.” He paused. “Where is she, by the way?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Inara shrugged. “That’s too bad, though. I was hoping to see her, maybe.” She hesitated for a moment, gazing out the window into the blackness of space. “Mal and General Albia seem… close, don’t they?”

“I suppose,” Merlin said. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I think they know each other from the last war.”

“Yes, Mal’s always been _familiar_ with her,” said Inara. “It seems like something else, these days. Something more.”

A light flashed on the dashboard, and Merlin checked the nav readout. “Fuck. Fuck!” He shoved the rising tide of panic down and forced himself to think. “Get blankets and food,” he ordered Inara.

“What’s happening?” asked Inara.

“We miscalculated,” Merlin said. “ _Go_.” He punched his fist against the intercom. “Kaylee, shut down the engine. Everyone to the bridge, now.” He grabbed his book and frantically flipped through the pages as Inara dashed down the hallway.

Zoë was the first to get to the bridge. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“As soon as everyone gets here, kill all non-essential support functions in the whole ship, everywhere but the bridge,” Merlin ordered, still searching through his book. “We’re going dark ahead of schedule.” He found the incantation he needed and began casting. The crew crammed themselves into the bridge, but Merlin paid them no mind as magic flowed around him and took form at his command. He barely paused his chanting even to draw breath. Finally, almost a full minute later, the magic left him in a rush. Merlin, drained, sagged against the wall and slid to the floor. Zoë flipped a series of switches on the dashboard, and one by one, _Serenity’s_ systems shut down.

“What was that?” asked Kaylee.

“An illusion,” Merlin said, gasping for air. “I didn’t think I’d need to set it up, but it seems that our information about this Alliance patrol was wrong.”

Mal looked to Inara and crossed his arms. “Is that so?” The intimidating effect was somewhat diminished; Mal had apparently pushed off the floor and, in the absence of gravity, was slowly floating up toward the ceiling.

“Not her fault,” said Merlin. “Arthur and I programmed our route based on scout reports, not Inara’s documents.”

Mal gave a curt nod and grabbed the blanket that Inara tossed him, and Inara shot Merlin a small smile.

“I’m not sure how close we’ll pass by the Alliance cruiser,” Merlin said after he caught his breath. “We should show up dark if they scan us, and we’ll look like space junk on their telescopes.”

“That’s great, son,” Mal said. He drifted toward the center of the helm. “Now, can someone please get me down from here?”

Zoë pulled several lengths of rope out of her pockets. “On it, sir.”

\---

Merlin untied his belt from where it was tethered to the pilot’s chair and drifted toward Kaylee. She had had the foresight to grab almost her entire stash of snacks from the engine room and was gracious enough to share. Arthur floated by and nearly collided with Simon, who was currently huddled under three layers of blankets.

“Careful,” Zoë said. She offered Arthur a coil of rope. “Why don’t you strap down too? It might be a while before the grav’s back on.”

Arthur shook his head. “This is way too fun.” He launched himself across the helm, heedless of the chill that had set in over the past hours.

“This is your first time in low-grav, ain’t it?” Kaylee asked. Arthur nodded, and Merlin had to cast a quick spell to prevent Arthur from crashing into the dashboard.

Arthur grinned as he floated. “I don’t know why we don’t do this more often.”

“Extended periods of time spent in low gravity can cause muscle deterioration and the loss of bone mass,” said Simon through chattering teeth.

Arthur grabbed onto the pilot’s seat to steady himself. “That sounds bad.”

“It’s not great,” Merlin said. He launched himself back across the helm, snack in hand, and tethered himself in place.

“Have you been keeping up with your studies?” Inara asked.

Arthur groaned. “I’m trying, but the tones are hard. I thought English was bad enough, but Mandarin is even worse.”

“I’ve taught him to swear,” Kaylee piped up.

Inara gave Kaylee a wry smile. “Very helpful of you. You’ve made a great deal of progress very quickly, Arthur. I’ve brought back some reading material used in the central planets to teach Mandarin to children. Maybe you’d like to look over it later.”

“Lessons for children,” Arthur said. “Perfect. That’s sure to make me feel like a smart and capable leader.”

“Oh, they’re not so bad,” said Inara. “They’re designed for any non-native speaker. They’re just usually given to children. We can go over them together, if you’d like.”

“Oh. Um, alright then,” Arthur said.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. _What are you playing at?_ he thought in her direction. She couldn’t hear him, of course, but she smiled innocently at him while Arthur’s back was turned. Merlin shoved down the surge of jealousy that arose. _Not yours, not yours_ , he told himself. Arthur, and certainly Inara, were free to flirt with whomever they wished.

“Perfect. Maybe we can work on your tones after the systems are online.” Inara flashed a brilliant smile at Arthur. “If you’re free, that is.”

Arthur just nodded, and Merlin turned away.

\---

Merlin’s illusion ran out just after they had passed out of sight range of the Alliance patrol. It had been a close call, and Merlin had waited tensely, incantation on his lips, but Zoë gave him the all-clear just seconds before Merlin’s illusion blinked and faded. “Do you mind taking the helm for a bit?” Merlin asked Zoë, doing his best to ignore Inara’s quiet laughter as she led Arthur to her shuttle.

Zoë glanced at the pilot’s seat with a pained look on her face. “I need to go check the cargo,” she said. “Make sure nothing came down bad when I switched the grav back on.”

Merlin frowned at her retreating back. “Isn’t the cargo strapped down?” he asked Kaylee, who only shrugged.

“You’re the one I pay to fly this ship,” Mal said. “Why are you trying to pawn your work off on Zoë?”

“General Albia told me to do some experimenting with a spell,” said Merlin.

Mal looked alarmed. “What kind of spell?”

“The one I used to blow up the warehouse on the last mission.”

“You do recall that you’re in space, right?”

“That does make things more difficult,” Merlin said. “Still, maybe we could use the airlock…” Mal looked like he was gearing up for a tirade, so Merlin relented. “I wasn’t going to actually cast it, but there’s calculations I need to do.”

Mal considered for a moment. “Do them on your downtime,” he said. “I need you at the helm in case of another emergency.”

Merlin frowned but settled in for the haul to Delphi.


	5. Beginnings

Delphi had been one of the more ambitious terraforming projects during the early days of colonization. Nothing made it particularly uninhabitable, but nothing made it particularly habitable either. The planet was jagged and rough, all tumultuous seas and steep-cliffed mountains. Landing _Serenity_ was a challenge that Merlin relished and involved some delicate maneuvering and a series of rather suspect gravity generators.

“I’d really prefer she’d be on solid ground,” said Mal. He himself didn’t look happy about standing on the face of a cliff.

“Technically, sir, she is,” Zoë said. She looked up at the water raging not a hundred yards above their heads. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

Kaylee looked a bit uneasy, but she relaxed when Simon took ahold of her hand. “These things are perfectly safe,” Simon said. “They’re all over the place in the central planets.”

“Let’s just make the exchange and get off this rock,” said Mal.

As if on cue, a tall man with curly red hair flanked by two brown-uniformed guards strode onto the landing platform. His well-worn boots thudded softly against the grey cliffside. He consulted the device in his hand and squinted at Mal. “Captain Reynolds of _Serenity_?” he asked.

“Aye,” said Mal. “Lieutenant Kravitz?”

The tall man nodded, and Mal offered up the handheld that Albia had given the crew. “Here’s our credentials,” Mal said.

“Looks good, captain,” said Kravitz as he scanned the handheld. He beckoned, and a laden truck pulled onto the landing cliff. “We’re ready to make the transfer.”

At Mal’s nod, the rest of the crew got to work loading the stowed electronics onto the Mule.

“Did you run into any trouble on your way over?” Kravitz asked. Though he couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet away, his voice was nearly drowned out by the waves crashing above, and Merlin had to strain to hear Mal’s reply.

“We almost ran afoul of an unexpected Alliance vessel,” said Mal. “But we managed to get by undetected. How are things holding up here?”

Kravitz shrugged and rolled up his sleeves. “The new manufacturing jobs will help the place,” he said as he grabbed a box of protein from the truck. “Stimulate the economy, and all that. I won’t lie, it may take a bit of time for us to really ramp up production, but once we get going, we’ll be churning out those guns.”

“Get going as fast as you can,” said Mal. “We don’t exactly have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?” Kravitz asked.

Mal blinked. “Oh, you know. The longer the war goes on, the more lives are lost. Best to win as quickly as we can.”

“Believe me, captain, I’m aware,” said Kravitz somewhat stiffly. “Delphi’s sent our fair share of soldiers to die for the cause. Still, no good will come of trying to force things too quickly. It might be as much as half a year before we’re able to produce at full capacity.”

“Half a year,” Mal said. “Huh. Well, you just do your best. No more could be asked.” He clapped Kravitz on the shoulder and fell silent.

Ten minutes later, the exchange was completed with a handshake and a quick salute. Mal was strangely silent as he helped Zoë and Arthur secure the crates of protein in the hold, and he rebuffed all attempts at conversation until he and Merlin were alone in the bridge.

“The lieutenant didn’t know about Beaumonde,” Merlin said.

“Flavia isn’t making that information available, it seems,” said Mal.

“Why do you think that is, sir?”

Mal settled back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure. Old habits, I suppose. She always was one to keep her secrets a little too close.”

“Do you think she’s hiding anything from us?” asked Merlin.

Mal didn’t respond for a long time. “I hope not, for our sake,” he said finally, and he didn’t elaborate when pressed.

\---

Merlin spent much of the journey back to Ugarit working on the spell for Albia. He read during every spare moment he could find: at the helm, during meal breaks, late into the night with his bunk lit only by a steady sphere of light. He exhausted himself with this work, but he had an inkling of what Albia might be planning with the spell, and if he was correct then it was vital that he perfect it in time. Arthur cast worried glances at Merlin from the second day onward, which only served to annoy Merlin and drive him to distraction.

Merlin wasn’t the only one frustrated by scholarship, though. Inara had inscribed a series of Chinese characters onto a touchscreen so Arthur could follow her stylus strokes and practice drawing the characters himself, but Arthur found the process tedious and exasperating. Merlin knew because Arthur complained about it at length to him every time they were alone in the helm together.

“Look, if you don’t want to do it, just don’t do it,” said Merlin the day before _Serenity_ was due to land at Ugarit. “You’ll be able to get by just fine with English, as long as you have someone else there to make sure you don’t get swindled.”

“ _Swindled_? I won’t get swindled,” Arthur scoffed.

“You won’t get swindled _again_ , you mean,” said Merlin. “Not after that time on Meridian, or that time on Gayle, or back in Camelot when—”

Arthur shoved him, and Merlin dropped his book and his calculations. When he retrieved his screen, he found that an entire page of numbers had been deleted. He huffed at Arthur and managed to restore his writings, but the lighthearted mood had been ruined.

“You always shove me around,” Merlin said. “Why do you have to do that?”

“It isn’t personal,” muttered Arthur. He crossed his arms. “Just roughhousing, you know. Don’t be such a _girl_.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Merlin said. “You _like_ girls. Kaylee and Inara and Zoë are girls, and you like them. You ought to be more respectful.”

“I liked _Gwen_. Other girls are… well, they’re nice enough I suppose, but I…” Arthur floundered for words. “I heard some talk from the soldiers about, well, about… men who _like_ men,” Arthur continued in a small voice, and Merlin realized that the present meaning of _liking_ had shifted somehow.

Merlin weighed his next words carefully. “Yes, it’s much more accepted nowadays,” he said. “A man may marry a man, or a woman marry a woman, and they have the same rights as any other married couple.”

“I see.” Arthur avoided Merlin’s gaze. Merlin thought he noticed a faint flush rising on Arthur’s neck.

“Do you find that reprehensible?” Merlin asked before he thought better of it. He dreaded and longed for the answer at the same time, and Arthur took his time giving it.

“No,” said Arthur finally. “Camelot was… not welcoming to people such as those, but there are many sorts of people that Camelot did not welcome, and wrongly so.”

Merlin made a split-second decision. “I am one such person.”

“Yes, Merlin, your magic—” A look that Merlin couldn’t interpret crossed Arthur’s face. “Oh.”

It was Merlin’s turn to avoid Arthur’s gaze. He flipped through his book, barely taking in the words on the ancient, yellowed pages.

“I think I may…” Arthur trailed off into silence, then shook his head when Merlin looked at him. “Nothing,” he said. It did not seem like it was nothing, but Merlin let the matter drop. He didn’t want to push Arthur away by prying too greedily.

“I won’t ask you to tell me anything before you’re ready,” Merlin said. “But if you were to prefer men, you would receive only acceptance from us, you know.”

“Do I have to choose one or the other?” asked Arthur. He fidgeted with his sleeve.

“No,” Merlin assured him. “And it would not diminish your love for Gwen.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur cleared his throat and stood. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

Merlin was left alone in the helm, which should have been ideal, but he found that he couldn’t concentrate on his calculations at all.

\---

The following weeks blended together into one long stretch of hurried preparations and rushed missions. Albia told Merlin of her plan for the fractured symbol, and Merlin showed her his extensive notes and calculations, and together they decided that seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty-nine runes was the appropriate number to break the symbol into. _Serenity_ spent the better part of a month grounded on Ugarit while Merlin painstakingly inscribed seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty-eight runes—three times over, for if Albia’s plan worked she wanted to do it again—onto tiny pieces of paper. He couldn’t perform this task while flying the ship, and Mal flat-out refused to find a temporary pilot. In the end, Inara was sent out in the guise of an Alliance official, carrying all the runes that Merlin had written, and Merlin kept the last three blank scraps of paper near at hand.

Tensions ran high as the date of the attack drew nearer. Albia and Mal quarreled over battle plans and secrets, Simon and Kaylee quarreled over nothing at all, and Arthur and Merlin kissed.

The first time was sweet and fumbling. “May I?” Arthur had said, late at night on the bridge, his eyes fixed on Merlin’s lips. Merlin had nodded and pulled Arthur against him with a desperation he hadn’t felt in a lifetime.

The second time was more frantic, all bitten lips and pulled hair. Arthur shuddered in Merlin’s grasp as Merlin sucked a bruise on his neck. Something dark and possessive in Merlin purred at the sight of Arthur wearing a turtleneck shirt the next day.

The third time, they were drunk. Arthur had bought a bottle of whiskey on the last planet they had visited (which one was that again? They all ran together in Merlin’s mind). He knocked on the hatch to Merlin’s room after Merlin had set the ship to autopilot and taken to bed to study. They spent the night reminiscing and passing the bottle back and forth. Merlin ended up draped over Arthur in his bunk, working his hips in rhythm with Arthur’s.

They were almost caught the fourth time, and the fifth time, and the sixth, and… Merlin lost count. Arthur didn’t want the rest of the crew to know, which wounded Merlin more than he wanted to admit. No one could say how much time they had left, though, so he swallowed his pain and took whatever happiness he could get. They stole kisses in the halls of _Serenity_ , during breaks from training drills, in the back alleys of Ugarit’s capital city.

“What is this?” Merlin asked as Arthur straddled him in the pilot’s seat after everyone else had gone to bed. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “Is it—are you okay with it? Does it feel—?”

Merlin kissed him. “It feels good,” he whispered, and Arthur nodded and kissed him back.

\---

The day _Serenity_ was due to take off from Ugarit to join the defense of Beaumonde, Merlin awoke to a ruckus in the kitchen. Jayne, Mal, and Arthur were all shouting over each other, and the din was so deafening in the enclosed metal room that Merlin could barely muster surprise at Jayne’s unannounced arrival.

“Hush,” said Merlin, but no one paid him any mind. He fried a handful of protein cubes in spicy brown sauce and mixed in an egg and ate in the company of Simon, who looked even more miserable than Merlin’s breakfast. “Everything alright?” Merlin asked.

Simon stared into his morning tea. “Just… the usual,” he said. “It’s a lot, you know?” He paused while Jayne let out a particularly loud series of expletives. “Between the wounded soldiers, and the preparations, and the general sense of…”

“Crushing despair? Impending doom? The horror that accompanies the slow approach of your own death?” Merlin supplied when Simon trailed off.

Simon nodded. “Yes, between all that, I’m tired.”

Merlin filled his mouth with protein and egg. “Well, one way or the other, it will all be over soon.” Simon didn’t look as though he appreciated Merlin’s humor, and the shouting in the background continued for some time.

\---

The flight to Beaumonde didn’t take long. The date of the attack was still over a week away, but one of Albia’s fellow generals had created an extensive plan for getting the defense forces in place without provoking early action from the Alliance. Once on Beaumonde, Merlin received a signal from Albia, and he completed the first of the three broken symbols he had created. It was so unstable that Merlin only just had time to raise a magical shield before it detonated, leaving a smoking crater and startling several flocks of birds. He was surprised by the size of the blast; after splitting the symbol into over seven thousand runes, he would have expected a much smaller explosion. Merlin looked around in alarm in case anyone had heard, but he and Arthur had chosen a remote meadow to detonate the runes. Only the trees and stones and scrubby grass bore witness.

Albia called an hour later to report a resounding success. River had intercepted Alliance comms, she said, and Inara’s carefully-placed runes resulted in the destruction of thousands of Alliance warships. “Expect to detonate the remaining symbols within the next several days,” Albia said, and she ended the call. It didn’t seem to hit Arthur until then what exactly he had been privy to that afternoon, how many deaths he had helped Merlin cause. He looked rather ill, and he avoided the topic for the rest of the evening whenever anyone brought it up. Merlin was annoyed by this; after all, it hadn’t been Arthur to cast the spell. Still, Merlin understood. Mercy for his enemies had always been one of Arthur’s assets, and he had never enjoyed senseless destruction.

The next day, Merlin completed one of the remaining two symbols, resulting in widespread destruction and much consternation to the Alliance. Mal was worried that the Alliance battle plans might change— General Oswald no longer had quite the advantage that Albia was so sure would spur him to attack. If Albia were concerned, she didn’t show it; or possibly she had so much to be concerned about that one more item was scarcely worth the trouble. Cortex bulletins from the Core planets speculated about terrorism, mysterious warfare tactics, and even traitors in the Alliance government, all of which seemed to greatly please Albia. Even Mal grew uncomfortable with her bloodthirst and glee for mayhem.

“It _is_ war, Mal,” she said when he brought it up.

“It’s off-puttin’, is all,” said Mal, and Albia rolled her eyes at him through the visual transmission.

“If all you’re going to do is complain to me about the things I must do to win this war, I’m cutting this comm.”

Mal, always one who needed to have the last word, swore at her in Mandarin and stormed out of the bridge. Albia cautioned Merlin then against detonating the third symbol. Inara had not had time to place every rune of the final symbol before she was nearly discovered and had to be pulled out, and if Albia looked disappointed at the lack of further magically-induced destruction, Merlin didn’t mention it to Mal. In accordance with her own wishes, Inara did not return to _Serenity_ and instead was transported to a safe house on Paquin. Mal took the news reasonably well, though for the next few days, he rattled around the ship louder than strictly necessary. “At least she’ll be safe there,” he muttered before clattering the pans in the sink.

“She’s not abandoning us,” Zoë said. “It’s smart for her to get out.”

“I didn’t say she was abandoning us.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

Mal made no reply except to clatter even louder.

Merlin spent much of his time providing magical reinforcements to Beaumonde’s mundane defenses. He had to do it subtly so as not to give away his magic; he strengthened blast shields, increased the energy capacity of anti-aircraft guns, cast charms to make enemy gunfire go awry, and devised a rather clever (in his mind) spell that gave the inhabitants of Beaumonde faster reflexes. He traveled around the planet to cast these protections repeatedly under the guise of distributing weapons and medical supplies.

“What’s the use of all this?” Jayne asked one late night.

Merlin was exhausted and ravenous after a long day of spellcasting, and he was in no mood to argue with a grumpy Jayne. Still, he was feeling rather useless despite his spells, and he did not appreciate Jayne’s implications. “Gunners will be more accurate,” he said through his mouthful of food. “Pilots will be able to maneuver better. Soldiers—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jayne interrupted. “I meant, what’s the use of fightin’?”

The low murmur in _Serenity’s_ kitchen quieted at that, and Zoë glared at him.

“What?” said Jayne. He took a swig from a dark glass bottle. “We’re all thinkin’ it. We all know we ain’t winnin’ this.”

“Yes we are,” said Arthur quietly from the corner where he was working on his calligraphy. The glass screen sat in his lap, forgotten for the time.

“Don’t you start on that prophecy,” Jayne said.

“The prophecy has already come to pass,” said Arthur. He spread his arms in a mocking gesture. “Here I am. I have already failed my people once—yes, Merlin, I failed—but I shall not do so again.”

Jayne sighed and drank deeply. “I’m all out of faith, I s’pose.”

“No one’s asking for faith,” Arthur said. “We may lose tomorrow, we may lose everything, but the fight doesn’t stop when we’ve lost.”

“He _does_ know how war works, right, sir?” Zoë muttered to Mal, but Arthur ignored them.

“We shall not win until freedom and independence are restored, and we shall not lose until we are wholly destroyed down to the last person who hopes for liberation, and our cause is forgotten entirely.” For a moment, Arthur looked as noble as he ever had, a golden king of a wild and remote land, and Merlin wanted very much to kiss him.

“That’s lookin’ more likely by the day,” said Jayne. He stomped his way out of the kitchen, taking the bottle with him. The moment passed, and Arthur returned to his calligraphy.

\---

Arthur came to Merlin’s room the night before the date of the attack. “I can’t sleep,” he said by way of apology when Merlin, shirtless and grumpy, answered his knock.

“Well then,” said Merlin, and he led Arthur to his bed. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Merlin and Arthur both slept quite soundly afterward.


	6. The Defense of Beaumonde

The only warning they got was a siren, and the world erupted into blood and chaos. Merlin scrambled to disentangle himself from Arthur’s sleepy limbs, and he only just managed to shatter the cannonball headed straight for _Serenity_ before it was too late. Jagged metal scraps rained down around him, and he did his best to deflect them from hitting anything important. All around the city, crews rushed to their ships and took to the air, and Independent soldiers in their brown coats hustled into defensive formations. Ships launched into the sky to strengthen the Independent blockade, but some nimble Alliance cruisers had already touched down. Flashes of light danced across the overcast sky, giving the low clouds the appearance of apocalyptic heralds.

“Albia’s on the comm with orders, Merlin,” yelled Mal from the helm. “Get your ass in here and get us in the air!”

Alliance footsoldiers had already begun to swarm the streets of Beaumonde’s capital city, but Merlin had barely any time to wonder how they had gotten there so fast before Albia was shouting in his ear.

“—a whole fleet of Oculae,” Albia was saying. “They got past our blockade. There’s five of them above the north hemisphere and another five moving to the south. Take them out.”

“We don’t have any anti-aircraft missiles aboard,” said Mal.

Albia made a sound of frustration. “Use magic! I don’t care how strange it looks. Even one Ocula can disable enough of our sensors to cripple a city.”

“You promised you’d keep us out of direct combat,” Mal said.

“Yes, well, that plan didn’t work out, did it?” said Albia. Explosions and heavy impacts sounded from her end of the call. “ _Shit_. I’m under attack.”

“You’re on Beaumonde?” Mal asked.

“No, I’m on my flagship,” said Albia rather crossly. “Which, as I said, is _under attack_. We don’t have time for this. Get in the sky and take those Oculae out.” She cut the call.

Mal turned to face the rest of the crew, who had all gathered in the bridge and were watching him with solemn eyes. “Simon, Kaylee, you don’t need to be here,” he said. The words sounded like they were being dragged out of him involuntarily. “You ain’t soldiers. There’s transport ships off-planet for whatever civilians are left. You don’t need to die for this—”

Kaylee cut him off. “We’re staying, cap’n.” Simon nodded his agreement.

“So we go, then,” said Mal. “Simon, prepare an emergency medpack in case we need to abandon ship for any reason. Zoë and Jayne, load yourself up with weapons, and bring us any spares you’ve got. Merlin, for the last time, I pay you to actually _fly_ this thing. Why are we not in the sky?”

Merlin grinned and guided the ship through her takeoff sequence. Getting through the atmosphere was a tricky business. He had to dodge attackers and attempted borders, and twice _Serenity_ was almost hit by a stray blast. He deflected several missiles with magic, sending one of them spinning into another Alliance ship, and the others burst harmlessly in space. Once Merlin cleared the atmosphere, the sky became less crowded, and he had more room to maneuver.

The first three Ocula-class ships were easy to find. They had been abandoned by their escorts and fell to Merlin’s magic, spinning to the planet below with ruptured hulls and sparking fuel cells. The spell took more energy than Merlin had expected, and his vision swam for a moment. He clutched the wheel and blinked hard, and the moment passed.

Merlin turned _Serenity_ to skim over the southern hemisphere, and Kaylee in the engine room, already anticipating his needs, shifted to slow burn without being told. The battle above the planet was more intense here. Flashes of light streaked through the void of space and ripped into ships with devastating effect. Though Merlin had taken out a significant number of Alliance warships with his runes, the Alliance army still outnumbered the Independents. Merlin spotted his target in the distance: five Ocula-class ships surrounded by a weak cordon of battle cruisers.

“Those cruisers are Trebuchets,” said Arthur with no small amount of pride at his own knowledge. “Heavily armored. It’ll be hard to blow a hole in those things.”

“What do you suggest I do, then?” Merlin asked.

Arthur thought for a moment. “Fire usually works.”

Merlin ceded control of the ship to Mal and began chanting. Moments later, the interiors of the battle cruisers were consumed in flame. The Oculae tried to escape, but he split open their hulls with a spell. Merlin’s hands shook as though he had wrenched apart the metal keels with only the strength of his own body. Crew members spilled out of the broken hulls, sucked into the vacuum of space. Instead of letting them suffer, Merlin slit their throats with a convenient piece of sharp debris. At least he hoped it was sharp; it was hard to tell at this distance. He was feeling quite tired by this point, and he sank to his knees in the middle of the bridge. He was only allowed a moment of rest though, and Arthur soon hauled him upright.

“We’ve found more Oculae,” Arthur said.

Merlin groaned. “I blew too much power on those spells,” he said. “I can’t do anything fancy. I have an idea, but I need a reflective surface, and I need to be within a quarter-mile of those ships.”

Zoë hurried to find a mirror while Mal and Kaylee coordinated some complicated maneuver that Merlin was quite happy he wouldn’t have to pull off. He sank back down to the ground, and Arthur knelt next to him, a comforting presence at his side. Arthur laid his hand gently, almost hesitantly, on Merlin’s back, as though uncertain if he were allowed to take such liberties. Merlin leaned into the touch, and if Zoë found it strange that the two men shared such contact when she returned with Kaylee’s hand mirror, she gave no sign.

Merlin placed the mirror on the ground in front of him and sat up straighter, but he didn’t shake Arthur’s hand from his back. The ship lurched and swayed. “Do try to hold her steady, cap’n,” said Merlin.

“I would,” said Mal. “But we’re currently being fired at, and if I held her steady we would surely be blown to pieces.”

Merlin, already casting, ignored this. Between one instant and the next, the reflection in the mirror changed. Instead of the ceiling of _Serenity’s_ bridge, it showed a launching mechanism and a handful of long, dark grey tubes, shrouded in darkness. As he tilted the mirror, the tubes revealed themselves to be over a hundred missiles, ready to be launched. Merlin spoke a harsh, guttural word, and an acrid-looking smoke rose filled the mechanism. He passed his hand over the surface of the mirror and repeated the process. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Merlin wondered if Arthur could feel the magic coursing beneath his skin as he cast his spells. Would it feel like an electric charge? Was it an unpleasant sensation? Merlin hoped he’d get the chance to ask.

“What are you doing?” asked Mal. He spared a glance at Merlin. “They’re not firing anymore, but they’re also not falling out of the sky.”

“That’s the inside of a box launcher,” said Zoë with wonder. She was leaning over Merlin’s shoulder, watching the mirror. “You’re destroying the missiles on the Ocula ships.”

Merlin nodded and cast the spell one last time. “That’s all I can do for now,” he said, and he sagged back into Arthur’s supporting arm. “It’s not a very long-range spell. We have to find the last two Ocula ships.”

“No need,” said Mal. He had the comm headset on and was listening intently to someone on the other end. “Albia says to head south, above the big continent. One of our rescue vessels got clipped by a blast, and her engine is malfunctioning. She’s only flying on inertia right now. We’re to tow it out to a transport—an Orion—on the other side of our blockade.” He took off the headset. “Merlin, time to earn your keep.”

Merlin took control of _Serenity_ as Mal handed off the wheel.

“I don’t like this, sir,” Zoë said from somewhere behind Merlin, just outside the bridge. “I hate standing around. Makes me feel useless.”

“You’d rather be planetside?” said Mal.

“Maybe,” Zoë said. “At least I’d be doing _something_.”

“Yeah, most likely dying.”

Zoë was silent for a moment. “Sir,” she said finally, and Merlin swore he could feel the glare she leveled at Mal.

The damaged rescue ship wasn’t hard to find; tiny, agile cruisers lit up the space around it as they fended off Alliance attackers.

“How are we going to do this?” Zoë asked. “We can’t tow them behind us; our wake would fry them.”

“We’ll have to use the magnetic grippers,” said Merlin. He put on the headset and hailed the captain of the damaged vessel. “This is _Serenity_ ,” he said when the captain picked up his signal. “We’re going to get you out of here. Is anyone aboard injured?”

“No critical injuries,” came the response. “Is there anything you need us to do?”

“Do you still have steering capabilities?” Merlin asked. The captain replied in the affirmative, and Merlin continued. “Fly as straight and steady as you can and be ready to deploy your magnetic grappler on my signal.” He pulled _Serenity_ around to approach the rescue vessel from behind. Merlin gradually cut _Serenity’s_ speed until he matched the speed of the damaged vessel. A stray blast from an Alliance fighter whizzed close by, knocking the ship slightly off course, and Merlin swore and readjusted. His focus narrowed to his singular task.

It was times like this when Merlin best understood the tendency of sailors of every type in every age to anthropomorphize their vessels. Merlin felt as though the ship were an extension of himself, or maybe that he was an extension of the ship. They were one and the same, a singular being, or perhaps two beings so closely linked that they responded in tandem, in perfect coordination.

The two ships flew in parallel, and Merlin eased _Serenity_ down until she was in range to engage the magnetic grippers on the underside of her engines. He hailed the captain again. “You can deploy your grappler now,” he said. As soon as the captain confirmed that the two ships were quite magnetized together, Merlin increased the engine burn. It wasn’t as fast as _Serenity_ alone, and it certainly wasn’t as fast as Merlin would have liked, but they escaped the more hotly-contested area of sky and limped their way to the passenger ship. Merlin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and Mal clapped him on the shoulder.

“That was a fine piece of flying, son,” Mal said.

Not long after, the passenger ship hailed Merlin. _Serenity_ and the damaged rescue vessel disengaged from one another, and Merlin tried to contact Albia. When that didn’t work, he put out a call to the planetside Independent command base. After several minutes of no response, Mal shrugged and ordered a return to the planet. “We may as well make ourselves useful,” he said. He spoke into the ship’s comm. “Simon!”

The doctor hurried into the bridge. “Yes, captain?”

“How’s your battlefield med training?”

Simon looked nervous. “Nearly nonexistent.”

“Well, it’s always best to learn on the job, I reckon,” said Mal. “Here’s the plan. We go back to Beaumonde; find somewhere the fighting’s not so heavy. Jayne, Simon, and I will look for wounded soldiers. Zoë, Arthur, you come along for cover. We’ll move the wounded back to the ship or treat them in the field if necessary. Merlin, I need you at the helm to take us out if it gets too hot.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Zoë. She passed Arthur several guns and their accompanying harnesses. Jayne took great pleasure in loading his body up with weapons, and even Simon strapped a gun to his waist, though he seemed hesitant to do so.

A button blinked on the dashboard to indicate an incoming transmission. Merlin picked up the signal and was surprised to hear Albia’s voice coming through the headset.

“Return to the planet,” said Albia, sounding tense.

“Already on our way,” Merlin said. “What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing. Do nothing. Do not cast any spells, do not shoot at any Alliance ships. Try not to fly in a threatening way.”

“What’s she saying?” hissed Arthur. Merlin pressed a button, and Albia’s voice echoed throughout the bridge.

“The Alliance general coordinating the attack on Beaumonde has surrendered to me,” she said. “They’re laying down arms. I repeat, do not attack any Alliance ships or soldiers in any way. They have surrendered.”

Merlin blinked, stunned. “Affirmative,” he heard Mal say before cutting the transmission.

“We… won?” said Arthur.

“Seems we did,” Zoë said.

Simon let out a whoop of joy and hurried out of the bridge, presumably to tell Kaylee the good news. Jayne looked sadly at his array of guns and began unbuckling their holsters.

Mal leaned back in the copilot’s chair. “This feels almost anticlimactic. Not that I’m complaining,” he hurried to add. “The fewer Independent lives lost, the better, I say.”

“I agree, sir,” said Zoë. “Seems like a good strategy pays off.”

All around them, ships descended to the surface of Beaumonde, though the blockade stayed in place. Independents boarded Alliance vessels, seemingly without trouble or resistance. In the distance, Merlin spotted Albia’s flagship. “Should I follow it, cap’n?” he asked of Mal, indicating the flagship.

“May as well,” said Mal. “But not too closely.”

Merlin guided _Serenity_ to touch down within a hundred yards of Albia’s flagship. They landed in a grassy meadow just outside the suburbs of Beaumonde’s capital city, New Dunsmuir. Boarded Alliance ships, flashing white lights to indicate surrender, descended from the sky, all the way out to the horizon. Merlin could hear cheers in the distance, even so far away from the city proper. Across the meadow stood an Alliance gunship bearing what Merlin assumed to be the general’s insignia. A makeshift tent had been hastily set up in the center of the bright meadow, barely more than a cloth propped up on some poles to give the inhabitants a semblance of shade. Merlin caught glimpses of Albia’s mass of dark hair through gaps in the Independent and Alliance soldiers that surrounded the tent, glowering at one another. He counted at least four other people in the tent: one undoubtedly was the Alliance general coordinating the attack, and the others must be advisors.

The radio sparked with an incoming signal. “Is that you, Captain Reynolds?” came Albia’s amused voice through the transmitter. “Figures you’d be late, even after I sent you the coordinates for my location.” Mal looked at the crew in confusion.

“I think she’s trying to give us a reason to be here,” Merlin whispered. “Just go with it.”

“I apologize for being late, General,” Mal said into the comm, his brow furrowed.

“General Oswald knows that you are my most trusted advisor, so he has graciously agreed to allow you to join the negotiation for the terms of surrender, despite your tardiness,” Albia continued. “You may bring…” she paused. “Two? Yes, two others to join the council. We await your presence.” She cut the transmission.

Mal surveyed the crew gathered in the bridge. “Merlin, you’re with me. Have protection spells ready in case anything goes wrong. Zoë…”

Zoë stood at attention, her face an expressionless mask.

“I need you to stay at the helm. You’re the only other one who knows how to fly her.”

If Zoë felt any resentment at being passed over in such a way, she didn’t show it. Instead, a look of doubt crossed her face. “Captain, I’m not so sure I…”

Mal laid his hand on her shoulder. “You can do this.” He left his hand there for a moment before addressing Arthur. “I assume you have some experience with these kinds of talks?”

Arthur nodded. “I’ve both assisted and led the negotiations of terms of surrender,” he said. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be able to be, though. The circumstances are rather different.”

“Shiny,” said Mal. “I’ll take what I can get. We’ll leave through the cargo bay. Jayne, you’ll be there with weapons. Don’t point them at nobody, just have them ready. Simon, I want you further back, out of the line of fire. It wouldn’t do for you to get hit by a stray bullet. Take your emergency kit, just in case there’s casualties.”

The crew got into position. Jayne lounged at the entrance to the cargo bay, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world, despite being loaded up with three guns that Merlin could see and probably at least two more that he could not. Simon, true to Mal’s orders, stood further back, his emergency kit clutched to his chest. Several of the soldiers in the meadow leveled their guns at Mal, Merlin, and Arthur as they disembarked, but an unfamiliar male voice spoke up from the tent. “Let them through.” The voice was thin and reedy with an undercurrent of hate running through, and Merlin instantly detested its owner.

“So good of you to join us,” said Albia as the ranks of soldiers parted. She gave Mal a steely look that was more glare than smile. “Please, sit.” There were no more chairs, however, and one Independent soldier was obliged to hurry into Albia’s flagship to fetch some. Brief introductions were made in the interim. General Oswald was the one with the hateful voice, and he had a face to match: sharp-featured and sneering, framed by ragged brown hair that hadn’t seen a wash in far too long. He lounged in his chair with a calculated indifference. Something about Oswald’s character demanded the attention of all those present, as though he believed he was the only person in the meadow who mattered, and he wanted to make sure everyone else agreed.

“Now, I believe we were discussing the terms of my surrender,” said Oswald once chairs were procured. His voice held a dangerous undercurrent, and alarm bells went off in Merlin’s head. “I have taken the past few minutes to consider your proposal, and I believe I have an appropriate counteroffer.”

He pulled a small concealed handgun from his boot, leveled it at Albia’s forehead, and fired.

Albia frowned as she stared at the bullet travelling very slowly toward her.

“I recommend you get out of the way,” said Mal. “Or maybe…” he reached to pluck the bullet out of the air, but he yelped and stuck his fingers in his mouth. “It’s hot,” he mumbled around his burnt fingertips.

“I can’t do this for much longer,” Merlin warned. Slowing down time to such an extent over such a wide area was taxing, even disregarding the magic he had performed earlier. Mal grabbed Albia’s arm, but she resisted.

“That man tried to kill me under the flag of truce,” she snarled, and she emptied the contents of her pockets onto the grassy meadow. Hundreds of tiny pieces of parchment paper, each bearing a small part of a fractured symbol, tumbled to the ground. “Shall we, Merlin?”

“Later,” Merlin said through gritted teeth. “Let’s get to safety first.”

They were halfway to _Serenity_ when Merlin’s spell ran out. Several things happened in quick succession as though time, resentful of being manipulated against its will, had decided to speed up the course of events.

The Alliance troops opened fire on the Independent soldiers across the meadow. The air filled with blood and screams, and Arthur pressed a hand to his mouth, horrified.

Red flares shot up from the Alliance ships nearest the meadow and spread in waves across the country. Merlin could see them from miles away, darkening the clouds. Small skirmishes erupted across the sky as the Alliance ships began firing on the Independents once more.

A breeze blew through the meadow, picking up some of the parchment scraps and tossing them about. Merlin muttered, and the breeze grew stronger. It carried a haunting note, as though of a dozen distant wailing voices. The makeshift tent blew over, and the Alliance general looked around in alarm. A cloud of paper scraps blew through the Alliance troops, and where one landed, it stuck. Merlin even charmed a stray slipstream to carry a few pieces into the Alliance general’s gunship.

A bullet hit Mal in the stomach, and he collapsed to the ground. Arthur and Albia stopped to haul him up between them and carry him into the cargo bay. Just before the bay doors closed, Merlin conjured a shield that shimmered like a mirage, retrieved the last unmarked piece of parchment from his pocket, and completed the symbol. He flung the tiny piece of parchment away from him and dove behind the bay doors.

The meadow burst into flame. The shockwave buckled Merlin’s shield, but the spell held. “Take us out, Zoë,” Merlin said into the intercom. Simon and Jayne helped lift the captain and bear him to the med bay. Merlin stumbled and almost fell, but he caught himself against the side of the ship.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Merlin said. His voice sounded like it came from the other end of a long tunnel, and his head felt light and dizzy with magic. “Gut shot, close to point-blank range.”

Simon cut Mal’s shirt with brisk efficiency. Mal tried to protest, but he had turned rather grey around the edges and was mostly unintelligible. After an injection of anesthetic, his complaints trailed off into silence. “It passed through cleanly and didn’t fracture,” said Simon after a moment of prodding. “That’s good news. Merlin, do you know any healing spells?”

“A few,” Merlin said. “The powerful ones need ritual implements. Herbs, talismans, that kind of thing. But I still might be able to help.”

“I need space to work, please.” Simon scrubbed his hands and arms, all the way up to his elbows. When he turned back around, no one had moved. “That means I need everyone who’s not Merlin to leave.”

“I hardly think—” said Albia.

“But doc—” Jayne said at the same time.

“I’d really prefer if—” Arthur took a step forward. He caught Merlin’s eye, but Merlin shook his head.

“You heard the doctor,” Merlin said. “We need space.” Simon flashed him a grateful look.

Albia, Jayne, and Arthur left the med bay, but they didn’t go far. Merlin could see their worried eyes peering in through the windows. He paid them no mind as he began to chant.


	7. After the Storm

Merlin awoke to the pleasant sensation of Arthur holding his hand—for of course he recognized the feel of Arthur’s palm against his; how could he not? —and the far less pleasant sensation of a throbbing headache. “No,” he complained, and he sought for something warm and comforting to burrow into and not emerge for quite some time. Much to his chagrin, he found nothing of the sort.

“Sorry to wake you,” said Arthur from above him. “Simon wanted me to tell you that Mal’s awake.”

“How is he?” Merlin asked without opening his eyes.

Arthur sighed. “Recovering. Simon doesn’t think there will be any lasting damage.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Merlin’s knuckles. “How are you?”

“My head hurts,” Merlin informed him, and Arthur chuckled against the back of Merlin’s hand, still pressed to his lips.

“I imagine it does.” Arthur untwined his fingers to press a kiss to Merlin’s palm, and Merlin shivered. “You fell asleep halfway across your room and hit your head rather hard on the floor. I’m surprised it’s not cracked. Do you remember that?”

“You always told me I had a thick skull,” said Merlin.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “I was more worried about the floor.”

They languished together in silence for a matter of minutes before Merlin finally opened his eyes. He lay in his bunk, stripped of his battle gear and dressed instead in a comfortable shirt. Arthur had pulled a chair near the bed; he looked as though he hadn’t bothered to wash after the battle apart from a cursory scrub with a damp cloth. Merlin touched a smear of dried blood near Arthur’s temple. Even battle-weary and dirty, Arthur looked regal.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Arthur, reaching for something from under his chair. “Simon thought you might be in pain when you woke up. He gave me some pills for you to take.”

“Oh, yes please,” Merlin said with vehemence.

Arthur struggled to open the bottle one-handed for a moment. “You might need to let go,” he said.

Merlin deliberated between holding Arthur’s hand and the possibility of relief from his headache. Relief won out, but only because Merlin slid his fingers down to loosely circle Arthur’s wrist. Arthur fetched a glass of water from somewhere outside of Merlin’s limited line of sight and helped prop Merlin up just enough to swallow two pills.

“What happened?” Merlin asked some time later, after the pain receded somewhat. “After the battle, I mean. In the meadow.”

“I’m not sure,” said Arthur. “Albia said it was probably a trap. I guess you were right.” He furrowed his brow. “Please don’t gloat.”

Merlin had never felt less like gloating in his life. “And Beaumonde?”

“New Dunsmuir is under Alliance control,” Arthur said. “It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the planet is, too.”

“We lost, then,” said Merlin.

Arthur sighed. “Looks like. The general may be thinking up some scheme, but it’s not looking too hopeful.”

“What do we do?”

Arthur clasped Merlin’s hand in both of his, his head bowed as though he were praying. “I don’t know. This all still feels so new to me.”

“What, losing?” Merlin said with the shadow of a smile. “I would have thought you’d be used to that by now.”

“You must be feeling better if you’re making fun of me,” said Arthur with a halfhearted laugh. “But no. We live amongst the _stars_ , Merlin. I’m sure it’s nothing to you by now, but it was so sudden for me. I still sometimes feel like I don’t know what’s possible. It’s hard enough to retake a castle or a city. How do we retake a _planet_?”

“I’m sure Albia will think of something.”

\---

Albia was thinking of something, or at least trying very hard to, when Arthur and Merlin wandered out into the ship in search of something to eat. She and Kaylee sat in front of an impressive array of wires, receivers, speakers, and dongles whose purpose Merlin could only guess. The contraption took up almost the full kitchen table, and Jayne had taken over what table-space was left with a spread of spotless guns. As Merlin watched, he picked one up seemingly at random, disassembled it, and began polishing the gleaming metal.

Merlin made to let go of Arthur’s hand before they drew the attention of their crewmates, but Arthur held on. “They’ll see,” Merlin whispered.

“Let them,” said Arthur. “I don’t want to hide anymore.” He glanced at Merlin. “As long as you’re okay with that, of course.”

It felt wrong for Merlin to be this happy so soon after a crushing defeat, but his heart soared anyway. He pulled Arthur in for a quick kiss which went on rather longer than he had planned.

Kaylee was the first to notice them. She cleared her throat, and Merlin and Arthur quickly broke apart. “Glad you got things figured out,” she said with a small smile.

Albia looked up at the sound of Kaylee’s voice. “You’re finally awake,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“What’s going on here?” Arthur asked as Merlin set a pot of water to boil.

“I’m setting up a communication hub,” said Kaylee. “Sorry, General, but I’ll need your radio.”

“My… oh, yes.” Albia unclipped her radio from the arm of her uniform, and Kaylee plugged it into the sprawling device on the table.

“I had to take some parts from the comm system,” said Kaylee. “A lot of parts, actually. Most of the parts. But I’ll put them back.” A burst of static came from one of the speakers, and Kaylee adjusted some wires.

Albia put on a headset and fiddled with the dials on her appropriated radio. “Merlin, go relieve Zoë, will you? I’m sure she’s spent quite enough time at the helm for the moment.”

“I’ll finish this up for you,” said Arthur. He grabbed a pack of protein noodles and upended it into the boiling water.

“I never thought I’d see the day when you’d prepare your own meal, much less someone else’s,” Merlin said as he made his way to the bridge.

“Well, if you’re going to be ungrateful, maybe I’ll just eat it myself,” called Arthur.

Merlin, chuckling, ducked into the bridge. “General says I’m to take a shift flying,” he said. “Where are we headed?”

Zoë stood almost reluctantly, Merlin thought. “We’re just in a holding pattern. Don’t get more than an hour of hard burn away from Beaumonde, but avoid any Alliance patrols.”

“Tall order,” said Merlin as he sat down.

“It’s not so bad,” Zoë said. “Seems like most of the Alliance ships have cleared out of this part of the sky.” She paused just before she stepped out onto the walkway. “I’m glad you’re alright. Wouldn’t want to have to go through the trouble of finding a new pilot all over again.”

Merlin frowned. “Thank you,” he said slowly. Zoë’s boots clanged along the walkway as she retreated.

“Zoë!” Merlin heard Albia call from the kitchen. “In Mal’s infirmity, you’re the acting captain of this boat, so put your authority to use. Get on the comms here and get me reports from our scouts.”

A few minutes later, Arthur stepped into the bridge bearing a bowl of protein noodles drenched in what passed for sauce. Merlin’s stomach growled at the smell, and he reached out for the bowl. “Oh, yes, gimme,” he said.

“Greedy,” said Arthur, chuckling, as Merlin wolfed down the pasta. “Feeling a bit better about things now?”

“I’m getting there,” Merlin said. “I won’t be casting any big spells for at least a few days, I’d say, but I can probably manage some cantrips.”

Arthur smiled. “That’s good, but that’s not really I was asking about.”

“Well, then, what were you asking about?”

“Honestly, you’re so dense sometimes. I have to wonder how you lived this long while developing no sense of subtlety.” Arthur crossed to where Merlin sat, laid his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s head. “I meant about this. About being, well, public, I guess.”

“I’m glad you don’t feel like you need to hide anymore,” said Merlin. “But I always understood why you wanted to.”

“You were worried,” Arthur said. “You thought I was experimenting or trifling. Something like that.”

“Maybe a bit,” admitted Merlin. “But you don’t need to come out just to prove how you feel.”

“Believe it or not, I have put some thought into this.” Arthur kneaded Merlin’s shoulders, and Merlin pushed back into the touch. “I’m not… what’s the phrase? Coming out? I’m not coming out to prove anything. I’m doing it because I want to be with you, honestly and without deception.” He paused for a moment. “And if you ever tell Jayne how sappy I sound right now, I will deny it vigorously.”

Merlin laughed. “Fair enough. I can’t fault you for that.”

“So, you ever going to teach me to fly this thing?” asked Arthur. The serious mood that had settled into the bridge lightened.

“Couldn’t hurt to show you the basics,” Merlin said. “Then you could at least get us in the sky in an emergency.”

“’Fraid that’ll have to wait, boys.” Zoë poked her head into the bridge. “General wants us all in the kitchen. Says she heard something.” Merlin put the ship on autopilot, and he and Arthur followed Zoë down the hallway.

Albia paced the kitchen, barely-controlled excitement quickening her steps. “Keep trying to get ahold of Tember,” she said to Zoë. “And I need an estimate of how many ships we have left.” Zoë nodded and took Albia’s place at the sprawling comm hub. “We have been presented with a unique situation,” said Albia with relish. “The attack on Beaumonde was coordinated by the late General Oswald, but because it involved so much of the Alliance army, all five Alliance generals were involved in the effort. According to my scouts’ reports, three of the remaining four generals are currently on or near Beaumonde.” Albia’s face split into a wide grin. “Folks, we’re gonna cut the head off the dragon.”

A stunned silence met Albia’s words, then everyone spoke at once.

“If you think we’re going back to that _gorram_ planet—”

“Our captain was shot, how could you even—”

“I don’t want to point out the obvious, General, but we have been—”

Albia ducked her head and waited until the deluge of complaints abated. “I know I am asking more of you than I have any right to,” she said. “You’re not soldiers, you were never meant to be in direct combat, and you have every right to leave my employ, if that’s what you feel is best.” She locked eyes with each member of the crew in turn. “But right now, we have a chance to make some good come of this fateful day. Beaumonde hasn’t fallen yet. There’s still hope.”

“How long can the planet hold out?” asked Zoë.

Albia sighed. “We still have a few strongholds there. It’s a profitable manufacturing planet, so the Alliance won’t want to destroy the infrastructure. They’ll resort to siege tactics to take the cities we still hold. I’d guess we have a matter of days before they set up a blockade. After that, it could take years for the planet to fall.”

Zoë glanced around at the tired, resolute faces of the crew. “Let’s hear your scheme, General.”

“Right, there’s two generals on the planet and one in a ship orbiting it,” Albia said. “We’ll need to take them all out in fairly quick succession. Once one of them is killed, the alarm will be raised.”

“We could use the runes again,” suggested Merlin.

“I’m afraid not,” Albia said. “The Alliance know to be on the lookout for bits of paper now. I gather some video footage survived the bloodbath in the meadow; they think it’s a chemical reaction or something of the sort. And we don’t have the time or resources to get you to each general and lay the runes directly. No, we’ll have to split up. Jayne and Arthur will be going after General Maddox in New Dunsmuir.”

Jayne scoffed and reassembled his gun with a series of loud clacks. “Like hell I am. The city’ll be crawling with purple-bellies. Getting in alive will be hard enough, but we won’t be getting out of there ‘less we’re in chains.”

“I’ve got spies in the capital. They’ll be able to help you if you make contact with them,” Albia said. “May I continue?”

Jayne nodded his assent, glaring at anyone who glanced at him.

“General Daniels is in the field on the north continent,” said Albia. “My scouts are working on narrowing down his exact location. Zoë and I will go after him once he’s found. Merlin, after that show with the Oculae—oh yes, I’ve heard about that—I trust you’ll have no problem taking out General Cooper on his flagship without leaving _Serenity_. Do it quietly, something that won’t raise any alarms.”

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a glance. “You’re putting him on the planet without me?” Merlin asked. “But we’re a team. A really good team.”

“I need you to fly the ship,” Albia said. “Mal’s an invalid. He can’t even sit up, let alone fly us through an Alliance blockade.”

Simon nodded in agreement. “He’ll need quite a bit of time to recover, I’m afraid.”

“What about Zoë?” said Arthur.

“I only know the basics,” Zoë said. “Takeoff and landing and flying her straight is the limit of my abilities.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” said Albia with a heavy sigh. “None of this is, really. But I think this is the best solution. I can’t go to the capital; my face will be on every Alliance feed. Zoë can talk like a soldier, unlike you, Jayne. I need her with me in the field, and you’re the one with covert ops training.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Jayne said. “But how are we s’posed to get close to the general?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” said Albia. “I’ve downloaded the New Dunsmuir blueprints from the Cortex. The real blueprints, not the fake ones that anyone can get. You’re creative, you’ll think of something.” She turned to Zoë. “Now, you and I will be posing as Alliance soldiers from a platoon that got nearly wiped out. We’ll need fake ident cards and matching profiles in the Alliance registry. Kaylee, you’ll have to hack the registry to input our profiles, and Jayne will create the fake cards.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to pretend to be dead soldiers?” Kaylee broke in.

Albia frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Well, instead of creating a whole new identity, why not just take somebody else’s?” Kaylee looked around the room for approval, and Simon nodded encouragingly. “Find some dead soldiers, take their ident badges, put your own pictures on them.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Albia. “It might take time to find soldiers who look like us, though. We’d have to pass several ident scans to get to the general.”

“Really?” Kaylee said. “Even in the chaos of the field, when planetary access to the Cortex is disrupted, and you two are trusted officers of the late General Oswald?”

“But access to the Cortex isn’t disrupted,” said Albia.

Kaylee shrugged. “Not yet, it’s not.”

“It’s a decent plan, General.” Zoë leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Take a few hours, each of you, to think about it. If you want in, all of you, then we’ll start planning. The decision’s got to be unanimous. You want out, that’s fine. No harm done. I won’t be forcing nobody to do anything they don’t want to do.”

“You need to decide now,” Albia insisted. “We’ve got no way of knowing when the generals will be leaving. And the Alliance will be setting up their blockade as we speak. Getting past the blockade only becomes more difficult each moment you delay.”

“Good thing we have all sorts of practice getting in and out under Alliance noses,” said Zoë. “That’s why you hired us in the first place. You’re asking a hell of a lot of us, and you will give us the time to consider.” She stood. “I’m going to see to Mal, explain the situation to him and the doc. It’s his ship. He gets the final say in this.”

Albia watched Zoë stride away to the infirmary. “I have to say, she makes a damn good captain.”

\---

“What do you think?” Arthur asked.

Merlin sighed and settled down in the pilot’s chair. “It’s not a bad plan. I just wish you weren’t going without me.”

“Me too,” Arthur said. “Who’s going to keep you out of trouble? Not Kaylee, surely.”

“Keep me out of trouble?” said Merlin, laughing. “You should be worried about yourself. You’ll be alone in New Dunsmuir with Jayne, of all people.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Arthur fidgeted with his gun. “I’d rather it were you.”

“So, you’re finally admitting that I’m useful?” Merlin said with a wry smile.

Arthur scoffed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Just that… sometimes it’s better to have you around.”

“Honestly,” said Merlin. His hands moved over the dashboard by instinct. “If you knew how many times I’ve saved you, maybe you’d be a bit more grateful.”

“I know,” Arthur said. The serious tone caught Merlin’s attention, and his hands stilled. “I know how much you’ve done for me. Don’t you ever think that I don’t.”

“I hate the thought of you planetside with only Jayne for backup.”

“The way Albia put it, I think I’m _his_ backup.” Arthur paced the deck of the bridge. “He’s the one with the covert ops training.”

Merlin sensed a vulnerability that Arthur didn’t often allow himself to show. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “Sure, it’s new, and maybe it’s a bit out of your league.”

Arthur shot him a dirty look. “Thanks, Merlin. You say the sweetest things.”

Merlin continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “But really, compared to everything else you’ve done, this isn’t that big of a leap. You can think on your feet, and you can handle yourself in a fight.”

“What has my life come to, if those are my redeeming characteristics?”

“It’s not so different, is it?” Merlin turned to face Arthur. “We don’t use swords so much as guns, nowadays. And sure, maybe you’re not negotiating with the king of Nemeth or Essetir, but you know how to talk to people. You know how to get them on your side.”

“Jayne certainly needs all the help he can get in that regard,” said Arthur with a small smile. “So you think we should go through with Albia’s plan?”

“I’m all for it,” Merlin said. “Not even a question.”

Arthur grinned. “Quite right."

\---

“So, Zoë tells me Flavia’s trying to commandeer _Serenity_ ,” Mal said. His voice was faint enough that Merlin had to lean close to hear him. The harsh, artificial light of the med bay washed him out, but he seemed to be in better shape than he had been when Merlin last saw him, bleeding out on Simon’s table.

“She’s got a plan,” Merlin said. “It’s not half-bad, but it’s risky.”

Mal laughed then winced in pain. “Her plans usually are. I’m just disappointed I’ll have to sit this one out. It kinda sounds like fun.”

“So you think we should do it?” asked Merlin.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Zoë, son.” Mal took a shaky breath. “Me, I don’t mind Flavia using _Serenity_ for her vengeance mission, as long as we’re all quite clear on whose ship this is.” He fell silent for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging democracy on my own ship, but I s’pose I ain’t got much of a choice at the moment.”

“Vengeance?” Merlin said. “I thought it was about damaging their command structure.”

“I’m sure she dressed it up nice,” said Mal. “But I know that woman, and she wants revenge; make no mistake about it.”

Merlin frowned. “And you still think we should go through with it?”

“Way I see it, we lost this battle,” Mal said. He sighed heavily. “I hate to say it, but we did. If the Alliance get a solid footing on Beaumonde, they can use it to take over the rest of the Kalidasa system. Our job now is to make sure that don’t happen, and if Flavia’s got a workable plan, I say we go in guns blazing.”

“You don’t mind her taking command?”

“Sounds like she’s doing what I’d do if I were in any shape to do it.” Mal grimaced. “Our options here are run or fight and I don’t reckon running will do us much good. But as soon as I can stand under my own power, I’ll be the one giving orders ‘round here again. Just so’s we’re clear.”

Merlin hid a smile. “Looking forward to it, cap’n.”

\---

“So, you’ve all decided in favor, then?” Zoë asked of the crew gathered around the kitchen sitting area. A chorus of affirmatives came from the crowd. Jayne grumbled something indistinct, but Arthur elbowed him.

“Excellent,” said Albia with a wide grin. “We’ve got some preparations to do. First, we’ll need to steal an Alliance shuttle…”


	8. New Friends, Old Enemies

New Dunsmuir was a sorry sight. The once-grand city forests had been mostly demolished, and the famed flower gardens had been trampled by careless soldiers. Arthur thought he even saw a few horseshoe prints, though he didn’t imagine a cavalry would be much use in the city. The once-bustling spaceport was now only open to refugees, and long, somber lines of sad-faced mothers and worried children stretched through the alleyways. Those who were too poor to afford space fare had taken rowboats, fishing boats, and even canoes out to sea—anything to survive the widespread destruction that had fallen upon the capital. Arthur did not envy their fate; the ocean looked ferocious and choppy.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” Jayne muttered. He pulled his stolen medic’s cap low over his eyes as he led Arthur through the war-torn streets.

“’Course not,” Arthur said, skirting a pile of bloodstained rubble. “You called me an opportunist, a usurper, and several more insulting things that I don’t care to repeat. But that’s all just friendly banter, is it?”

“You _did_ take my job.” Jayne surreptitiously checked his palm-size computer readout. “This way, then a left.”

Arthur eyed the dust-choked alleyway with trepidation. “Are you sure?”

“I’m the one with the city plans, ain’t I?”

“I suppose so.” Arthur covered his mouth and nose with his hand. “And I didn’t take your job, you left it.” His words came out muffled.

“You ain’t barely waited ‘til I was gone.” Jayne checked the computer again. “Here. There’s a public terminal this way.”

“Of course I inquired after your job when you left,” hissed Arthur. “I couldn’t keep flying for free by the captain’s good grace, could I? Though, really, I used to be a king. He should be honored to have me aboard.”

Jayne located the public Cortex terminal and slipped in the chip Kaylee had given him. “So that’s it, eh?” he said as the terminal whirred and beeped. “You think you’re very grand, don’t you? You think you’re better than the rest of us ‘cause of some unearned title. No need for good, honest work. You’re a _king_!” Jayne spat. “You’re even worse than the fancified doctor.”

“I may have been born into it.” Arthur jabbed Jayne in the chest with one finger, and Jayne scowled. “But I had to prove I was worthy, time and time again. I have sacrificed and bled and _died_ for my people. Don’t you _dare_ tell me it was unearned.”

Arthur’s vehemence surprised Jayne, who opened his mouth to reply. Before Jayne could speak, though, an insistent beeping noise emanated from the terminal. Several error messages flashed in quick succession, followed by a message that said, in both Mandarin and English, “No Cortex access at this time. Please try again later.”

“That’s it, then,” said Arthur. “I’ll let the general know. Are you sure the channel is secure?”

“Checked it myself,” Jayne said. “Me and li’l Kaylee. Just in case you don’t trust me.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Arthur with a tight-lipped smile. “Why wouldn’t I trust you?”

\---

Cannons and artillery-fire echoed off the highlands of Beaumonde’s northern continent. Albia stood alert, keeping watch from the back of the Mule as Zoë drove it along a dilapidated road.

“Almost makes me miss it,” Albia called over her shoulder. “All these rolling hills and cliffs and things. It makes me… nostalgic.”

“Nostalgic for what, ma’am?” asked Zoë.

“Easier times, I suppose,” Albia said. “I used to be a farmer on Athens. Had my own plot of land and everything. Vegetables and soybeans, mostly, though I had a decent ranch going as well.”

“What happened to it?” Zoë slowed down to get a better look at the burnt shell of a stone farmhouse. Crops in the nearby fields had been trodden down by the passage of companies of soldiers, though no bodies littered the area. Zoë hoped the farmers had gotten out in time.

“I ran away to join the army at the first whispers of rebellion from the Rim planets,” said Albia. “I enrolled in the Alliance military academy in Londinium. I was still an officer cadet when the first shots of the Unification War were fired. Didn’t take long for an Alliance-educated officer to climb the ranks, though, ‘specially in those early years before we figured things out.”

“The _Alliance_ military academy?” Zoë repeated. “You’re a turncoat?”

“Not exactly,” said Albia. “My plan was never to join the Alliance, just to get my education as best as I could. The Independents didn’t really have an academy set up in those days, see, and I didn’t want to be a bombardier or an airman. I wanted command. You were a career soldier, weren’t you?”

“Aye, I was. Only ever got as high as corporal, though.”

“Corporal’s a perfectly respectable rank. You get your field experience, but you still get to boss people around.”

Zoë chuckled. “Reckon you do, at that.”

Albia was silent for a few minutes. Stony outcroppings rolled by, reaching up to the desolate sky that threatened rain. The landscape seemed to grow only bleaker and more barren the longer the lonely road stretched on.

Zoë spotted a group of Alliance footsoldiers further down the road. “Seems it’s about time to get into character.”

Albia double-checked her forged ident card. “I’m Colonel Sophia Duke. Remind me, what’s your new name?”

Zoë pulled her ident card, still driving one-handed, and nearly lost the card in the rushing wind. “Colonel Ellen Alvarez,” she called back. And our immediate superior was… who was it again?”

“Ah, fuck, I don’t remember,” said Albia. “Major General Smithson, I think?”

“That sounds right,” Zoë said. She slowed down and pulled even with the group of footsoldiers. “Where’re you boys headed?”

A man in the front of the group answered. “We’ve been ordered to report to General Daniels,” he said. “You?”

“The same,” said Zoë. “We were told to head down this road, and we’ll know where to stop once we get there. The usual nonsense. You fellows get any more specific instructions?”

“Just to be on the lookout for an old air base,” the man said. “I guess the general’s set up there.” He glanced at the flying Mule. “Say, you got any more room in that thing? Only we’ve got a few injured…”

“’Fraid not,” said Zoë. “We got a heavy cargo. It’s trouble enough staying afloat as is.” Albia rapped her knuckles against the metal case that occupied much of the cargo space of the Mule; inside were guns, grenades, and other equipment she had thought might be useful.

“Ah, well, can’t hurt to ask,” the man said. “Maybe we’ll see each other around the camp.”

“Maybe so.” Zoë bade him farewell and sped off down the road.

“I meant it, you know,” said Albia a few minutes later. “Earlier, when I said you’re a good captain. I’d offer you a ship of your own if I didn’t think it’d be an insult to your loyalty to Mal.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” said Zoë.

“I’d be pleased if you did,” Albia said. “And know that if your circumstances change, I’ll find you a ship to captain. You just say the word.”

Zoë smiled, though Albia, still guarding the vehicle’s rear, couldn’t see. “What word might that be?”

Albia twisted around. “Was that a joke? I must say, I’m honored.”

The road wound its way through a series of rocky barrows; beyond lay several ramshackle buildings clustered around a flat, grey-paved surface. “Must be the air base,” Zoë said. As the Mule drew closer, Zoë could see people in purpled armor scurrying about. A fence surrounded the base, but much like the rest of the area, it had fallen into disrepair. Zoë slowed to a halt before a guard. “Colonels Alvarez and Duke,” she said to the guard. “Here to report to General Daniels.” The guard barely checked their ident cards before waving them through, and Albia clambered to the front next to Zoë.

“Find me somewhere private,” Albia whispered. “I want to contact Jayne.”

Zoë parked the Mule next to a small fleet of similar vehicles, and she and Albia disembarked. “Are you quite sure the comm channel is secure?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Albia. “They won’t be able to trace it or scramble it.” She and Zoë ducked behind a building. After checking if anyone was in earshot, Albia activated her comm device. “Jayne, come in.”

Jayne’s voice crackled through the comm a moment later. “Yeah?”

“Are you in the vicinity of the general?” Albia asked.

“Yeah,” Jayne said. “We’ve changed our plans somewhat, but we think we can take him out without too much of a fuss.”

A couple of officers hurried past, and Albia was obliged to wait until they were out of earshot. “What’s your plan?”

“Tell you when it’s finished,” said Jayne, and the channel went dead.

\---

The next thirty-seven hours were some of the most stressful of Arthur’s life. He and Jayne somehow talked their way into getting temporary jobs at the well-fortified hotel that General Maddox had converted into his temporary headquarters in New Dunsmuir. Luckily, one of Albia’s spies had already infiltrated the hotel and was more than happy to persuade the manager to offer jobs to his “poor cousins put out of work by the war.” The manager was suspicious, but Arthur improvised such a tale of woe that even Jayne was impressed.

“So that’s why, sir,” Arthur concluded in a passable imitation of the local speech. “And since there weren’t no more room on the boat, and the house was destroyed an’ all, we was hopin’ we could work here, just for room and board, y’see.”

“They’re hard workers, I can assure you,” Albia’s spy hurried to add. He had introduced himself as Denton, but Arthur doubted that was his real name.

The manager grudgingly allowed Arthur and Jayne to take up housekeeping duties, but he warned them to stay clear of the military men. “I don’t want no more bloodshed under my roof,” he said. “And those purple-bellied bastards are as likely to shoot you as they are to say how-d’you-do.”

Jayne and Arthur spent most of the next day watching the general as he moved about the hotel. “Maybe we could poison him?” Arthur suggested after five boring hours of reconnaissance.

“No,” Jayne said. “He tests all his food. That’s what he’s doing when he—” Jayne mimed scooping something up in a small box and holding it to the light.

“Why can’t we just shoot him and get it over with?” Arthur asked seven hours later.

“Because we want it to look like an accident, at least at first,” said Jayne. “Don’t want to raise the alarm too early. The others need a chance to get out on time.”

They learned over the course of their observations that General Maddox ordered room service every night, took his coffee black, and always had a medic near him, even during sensitive meetings or while travelling. “He rotates between three men. What’s happening here?” Jayne asked.

“Give me the radio and I’ll contact Albia,” said Arthur. He ducked into a private room and, after scanning for any traces of surveillance devices, made the call. He returned to Jayne just a few minutes later. “Good news,” he said. “I may have found something we can use.”

\---

“This is taking too long,” said Merlin. He drummed his fingers on _Serenity’s_ dashboard.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Kaylee said, though she didn’t look too certain herself. “They made the check-ins, right?”

“Yes, but the longer they’re planetside, the more danger they’re in. I’m worried they’ll be discovered or hurt or something.”

“Waiting’s always hard,” said Simon. He had snuck into the bridge so quietly that Merlin hadn’t heard him.

“How’s Mal doing?” Kaylee asked as she hugged him.

Simon smiled tiredly. “Better. He’s out of the woods, barring an emergency. I think he’ll make a full recovery. You can visit him later, if you like, but he’ll be groggy.”

Kaylee let go of Simon and ruffled Merlin’s hair. “So, you and Arthur,” she said.

Merlin felt his face break into a wide grin. “Me and Arthur.”

“How long has it been going on?”

“I’m not sure,” said Merlin. “A month, maybe? It’s been good.”

“So that’s where you’ve been sneaking off to,” Simon said as realization dawned. Merlin chuckled. “We wondered. Kaylee was hoping for the best, of course.”

“I just want everyone to be happy,” Kaylee said. “It’s hard enough normally, even more so in times of war.”

“It seems wrong to be so happy,” said Merlin. “But we are. Or, at least, I am. I feel like I’ve had such luck, and I’m worried it’ll run out at just the wrong time.”

Simon clapped his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Arthur’s got Jayne with him. For all his many, many faults, Jayne is a good fighter. They’ll get home safely.”

“How’re you gonna kill General Cooper?” Kaylee asked.

“I’m thinking a heart attack or an aneurysm,” Merlin said. “Something that looks natural. I’m going to wait until the others are dead, though. I don’t want to give them any reason to think they might be in danger.”

“Smart,” said Kaylee with a nod. “How close d’you have to be to pull that one off?”

Merlin grimaced. “Very close, unfortunately.”

\---

“You’re sure we can trust this man?” asked Arthur, not for the first time. He jumped as footsteps sounded close behind him.

“Yes, _gorram_ it,” Jayne said with a smirk at Arthur’s nervousness. “Denton’s part of our network. I’ve worked with him before.”

“Alright, no need to get tetchy,” said Arthur. “I’m only checking. It wouldn’t do for him to turn us in.”

Arthur and Jayne had talked their way into the hospital that served as a hub for directing the capital’s emergency medical services. The influx of wounded soldiers and civilians was overwhelming, and the doctors and nurses were so harried that no one looked twice at two more medics rushing through the clean, ceramic-and-stainless-steel halls. They stood in an unattended storeroom, frantically searching the shelves for a particular kind of syringe. Arthur found this task especially difficult, as he had never seen the kind of syringe he was looking for and was working off the rather rough description Jayne had provided. “Found it,” Jayne said after some minutes of searching. He carefully took the syringe apart and emptied it of the liquid it contained. “Hand me the saline.” Arthur did so, and Jayne refilled the bulb and reassembled the syringe.

“Shouldn’t we put it in some kind of packaging?” Arthur asked. “So it looks unused.”

Jayne shook his head. “This kind of thing don’t normally come packaged, just with the cap. It’s a matter of quick use in an emergency. Can’t have your medic fumblin’ with plastic or paper or what-have-you.” He checked his watch. “Come on, we only have an hour to make the switch.”

“I’m surprised he was still allowed to serve in the military with this kind of problem,” Arthur said as he followed Jayne out of the storeroom and through the hallway. “It seems inconvenient.”

“Inara said he developed it late in life,” said Jayne. “It’s rare, ‘specially here in the Core with easy access to all manner of medical nonsense, but it happens. Now shut yer mouth, I’m tryin’ to concentrate.” He spotted a local Cortex terminal and pulled up a map of the hospital.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” A passing nurse had stopped and was giving them a suspicious look.

“We’re looking for the front door,” Arthur said. He plastered on his most charming grin tinged with just a hint of sheepishness. “We’re a bit turned around.”

The nurse’s distrust increased. “You don’t know where the front door is?”

“We’ve been assigned here temporarily,” said Jayne. “To help with the overload, see. Now if you would kindly tell us where to go, we might be able to save a few extra lives.”

“I’d like to see your ident cards,” the nurse said. She peered at them one by one, holding each of their cards up in turn. “Well, I suppose that’s alright then. Can’t be too careful, what with the war and all.”

“Your caution is to be commended,” said Arthur with a tight smile. “Now, if you don’t mind…?”

“Yes, yes. It’s that way, take a left, up the stairs,” the nurse said, gesturing. “You’ll see the signs from there.”

Arthur let out a sigh of relief as soon as they were clear of the hospital. “How do you want to do the exchange?” he asked.

Jayne snorted. “The _exchange_. You make it sound like a hostage situation. I was thinkin’ a bump and switch. Classic, simple, easy enough. The only problem is that the syringe will probably be packed away in a med kit. I may need you to get involved.”

“I can do that,” said Arthur. He and Jayne made their way back to the hotel, pausing along the way to shed their stolen medic uniforms for the shabby livery the hotel owner had given them. After spending almost every waking hour observing the three medics who accompanied the general in shifts, Jayne had chosen a narrow hallway of the hotel as the best place to swap syringes. Arthur and Jayne positioned themselves in that hallway with a cart laden with cleaning supplies between them.

“How much longer until he passes by?” Arthur whispered.

“About ten minutes,” said Jayne after checking his watch.

“What should we do until then?”

Jayne eyed the cart. “Clean, I s’pose.”

\---

Zoë and Albia were back in the Mule once more. They had discovered that General Daniels had established a forward camp further in the highlands; from there, he directed the effort to capture one of Beaumonde’s major manufacturing cities. Albia had volunteered to haul protein and medical supplies as soon as she heard about the camp. The Mule had been loaded up with as much as it could carry while remaining buoyant.

“I think we need to pull out of the mission,” Zoë said. “We’ve been here for over a day and we’ve got nothing to show for it.”

“Not a chance,” said Albia. “We’re killing Daniels if I have to sneak into his room and slit his throat myself.”

“The Cortex is back up.” Zoë steered the Mule around a jagged outcropping of stone. “If anyone scans our ident cards, they’ll see that our photos on the cards don’t match the photos in the Cortex. Staying ain’t just dangerous at this point, it’s foolhardy.”

“Security won’t be as tight in the forward camp,” said Albia. “There’ll be fewer men, especially right now. It’s our only opportunity to take him out.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

Albia riffled through one of the med kits. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a lot in here we could use. Nothing he could OD on, nothing to poison him.” She leaned back with a frustrated groan. “If only we had Merlin here, he could just make Daniels’s head explode. Or Simon. Maybe he could figure out some lethal combination.”

“Splitting us up _was_ your idea,” Zoë said, slightly stung. “Just get Simon on the comm and read out the drugs to him.”

Albia did so, but to no avail. “Thanks anyway,” she said, and she cut the comm with a sigh.

“I only agreed to this because I thought you had a plan,” said Zoë.

“This is the plan,” Albia said. “I know it feels like we’re not doing anything, but we can’t win this war single-handedly. All we can do is cause as much chaos as possible before we pull out and regroup.”

“My problem with all this—” Zoë waved her hand at the landscape around them “—isn’t that it feels like we’re doing nothing. It’s that you seem to be making it up as you go along.”

“Well, maybe I am, a bit,” said Albia. She shrugged. “But that’s just the nature of these kinds of missions.”

“Harebrained? Thoughtless? Reckless?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Albia said with a wide grin. “We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes, the both of us. And isn’t it a little bit fun?”

Zoë had to admit to herself that in the old days, before the war and before her beloved husband’s death, she might have relished the thought of pulling one over on the Alliance. Maybe not quite in this manner, but perhaps if it were a heist, a big mark with a big payout. She could adapt well enough when a job went bad, and she was never one for losing her head. So why did she feel a faint tendril of panic crawl up her spine at the thought of being stuck here on the planet with Albia? It wasn’t just the peril she found herself in or the enemies all around her; Albia was right, Zoë had been in worse situations before. It was because, despite Albia’s prolific chatter and her readiness to discuss her past life, despite working under Albia’s command for the past two years, Zoë still didn’t know her and therefore couldn’t trust her.

The realization did not hit Zoë as hard as she might have expected it would. She supposed it had always been there in the back of her mind, but she trusted Mal and Mal trusted Albia, so she was in the habit of putting it out of her thoughts. Now, though, there was no escape: Zoë did not trust Albia.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Zoë asked.

Albia looked over in surprise. “Why do you think I’m not telling you something?”

“Because that’s what you do,” said Zoë. “What is it this time?”

Albia didn’t answer for a moment, and when she did, it sounded as though she were carefully weighing each word in her heart. “General Daniels and I… know each other. We were at the officers’ academy together.”

Zoë let out a string of Mandarin expletives. “So he’ll recognize you on sight, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah, most likely.” Albia’s face had a studied sort of blankness to it, and Zoë didn’t like to think of what the general might be hiding beneath that mask.

“ _Gorram_ it. Why are you here, then? Why not go to New Dunsmuir so you can stay undercover?” Realization dawned on Zoë. “You wanted to be the one to kill him, didn’t you?”

“I owe it to him,” Albia said. “We were friends, sort of, as much as you can be friends with someone you’re planning on betraying.”

“I can’t _believe_ this,” muttered Zoë. “We’re throwing our lives away you so can satisfy your damned honor?”

“We’re not throwing our lives away.” Albia turned to watch the heather-covered moor pass by. “He won’t shoot us on sight, I promise you that.”

“Oh, that’s very comforting.” Zoë drove in silence for a minute longer. “You gonna be able to kill him?”

Albia crossed her arms and gave no answer.

\---

The bump-and-switch was both easier and far more complicated than Arthur had anticipated. “Here he comes,” Jayne hissed. As the medic approached, Jayne tripped over a bucket he had left in the way and crashed into the cart, driving it into the medic’s side and knocking him down. A mop tipped out from the side of the cart and smacked the medic’s hand; he let go his med bag, giving Jayne the opening he needed to slide the bag behind the cart, out of the medic’s sight.

“My apologies, sir, my sincerest apologies,” Arthur said. He hurried to the medic’s side, making a show of tripping over the mop himself. The other man was knocked down once more before he had a chance to rise fully. Arthur positioned himself so that the medic had his back to Jayne and hauled him upright. Despite the man’s protests, Arthur straightened and swatted at his uniform to keep his attention. Jayne slid the bag back where the medic had dropped it and gave Arthur a quick thumbs up. “Once again, sir, I deeply apologize,” said Arthur.

The medic eyed them both suspiciously and even checked his med kit as though he suspected a robbery, but Jayne had stolen nothing. He stormed away, and Jayne gave Arthur a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. “Not bad,” he said. “Kept his eyes off me well enough. We may make a black ops man out of you yet.”

“I’m not sure if I like the sound of that,” said Arthur.

“You leave anything in our room?” Jayne asked.

“Guns, clothes, a few other things. Why?”

Jayne grunted. “Our part of the job’s done with. Denton will finish up here and get out. They’ll suspect a murder sooner or later, but we’ll be long gone by then, the three of us.”

“Is he coming with us?” asked Arthur as they made their way to the room they had shared.

“Doubt it. He said somethin’ about goin’ undercover elsewhere in the city. I told him he’s a damn fool not to get out while he can, but he’s a determined one. Reckon his info’s valuable, though.”

Following Jayne’s advice, Arthur had kept his bag packed of everything he wasn’t currently using, so it was a matter of seconds for him to grab his and Jayne’s belongings. “Where will we go now?” he asked as they strode through the streets of New Dunsmuir, leaving the hotel far behind them.

“We’d best make our way to the rendezvous,” Jayne said. “It’s a long hike, but I’d bet we can find some vehicles along the way.”

“How are we going to escape the city?” said Arthur. “We can’t just drive down the highway in plain view of the soldiers.”

“Actually,” Jayne said. “That’s exactly what I was plannin’ to do.”

Two hours and several changes of clothes later, Arthur and Jayne sat in a bullet-riddled land speeder towing a hovering cargo cart filled with the corpses of civilians and soldiers alike. Arthur’s hands shook as he bound the cut in his leg where a bullet had grazed him, and he tried to ignore the bloody, meaty stench of not-quite-fresh corpses that emanated from the cart behind him. The leader of the guard platoon holding the entrance to the city barely looked at their ident cards and didn’t even bother with scanning (though Jayne had scorched Arthur’s and shot his own) before waving them vaguely west of the city. “Take the first exit to the north, then go to gravesite three for processing,” he said. “You’ll see the signs.”

“Right away, sir,” said Jayne, and they set off down the highway.

“Gravesite three,” Arthur repeated. He felt slightly sick. “How many are there?”

Jayne glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. “Not sure. Best not to think about it.” He sighed. “I ain’t never been accused of being sentimental, but even I gotta say that the thought of all these people being dumped in mass graves weighs heavy on my soul.” Jayne slowed the land speeder as they approached the north exit that the soldier had described.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“Unhitchin’ the cargo,” said Jayne. He hopped out of the land speeder. “We ain’t going to gravesite three.”

They left the bodies there, abandoned on the side of the road. It had been a long time since Arthur had prayed, but he did so then.

\---

“Good morning, Captain Sleepyhead,” said Kaylee with a gentle smile.

Mal blinked groggy eyes and groaned. “It don’t feel too good. And there ain’t no such thing as morning out in the black.”

“Don’t worry,” Merlin said when he spotted Kaylee’s slightly crestfallen expression. “He’s just grumpy because he’s on drugs.”

“No, I’m grumpy because I _ain’t_ on drugs,” said Mal. “Doc, why ain’t I on drugs?”

“Because I need to ration my medical supplies,” Simon said. “There’s no telling when I’ll be able to restock.”

They stood grouped around Mal’s bed in the med bay. Simon had dimmed the lights; with the harsh, medical light gone, the room seemed bigger, and strange shadows lurked between the doctor’s neatly-labeled rows of medical paraphernalia. Mal and Kaylee didn’t seem to mind, but Merlin noticed Simon’s eyes darting along the shelves more than once, as though his supplies might take the opportunity to rearrange themselves while no one was paying attention.

“Any updates on the mission?” Mal asked.

“They’ve both made the check-ins,” said Merlin. “So we know they’re alive and uncaptured, at least. Albia had some ideas that didn’t pan out, but Jayne reported good news on his end. A bulletin came across the Cortex announcing that General Maddox has died of anaphylaxis. Some doctor is being investigated for negligence, but nothing suggested that they suspect he was murdered.”

“Huh,” Mal said. “I gotta give Jayne credit for that one. That’s right clever.”

“Albia’s report was a bit less hopeful,” said Merlin. “She and Zoë are near General Daniels, but they haven’t figured out how to kill him without raising suspicion.”

Mal closed his eyes once more. “General Daniels. I know that name from somewhere.”

Merlin shared a glance with Simon. “Well, he is one of the Alliance generals. I’d be surprised if Albia hadn’t mentioned him before.”

“No, it’s something else,” Mal said. “Can’t think of it now. My brain is fuzzy.”

“It’s a good thing I’m rationing the drugs, then,” said Simon with a brief smile.

Mal shook his head and regretted it. “Nope,” he said as he brought his hand up to his forehead. “I’d rather have the drugs.”

\---

As Albia had predicted, security in the forward camp was negligent. The camp, which was barely more than an abandoned farmhouse whose peeling white paint and sagging porch spoke of misfortune long predating its capture, was home to only a dozen or so soldiers presently. These soldiers scurried about, loading and unloading, chopping and building, and otherwise preparing for the area to be occupied by a great many more people before too long. The lonely farmhouse with its solitary oak tree and broken windows made Zoë melancholy, though she wasn’t quite sure why. The farm was clearly _somewhere_ —she was here, after all, was she not? And she could not very well be _nowhere_ , yet that was how she felt; she was nowhere, under the great vast sky.

“See?” Albia whispered to Zoë as they approached the farmhouse. “If it comes to a firefight, we can take them easy enough.”

“Unless they call for reinforcements,” said Zoë. She stopped the Mule to let a harried-looking clerk scan their cargo, then followed the clerk’s indication to the area of the yard that served as an unloading dock.

“Is that the protein?” asked a passing soldier. Her curly blonde hair had started to creep out from under her helmet, and she had a smudge of dirt high on her cheek.

“Aye,” Zoë said. “And med kits too.”

“Excellent,” said the soldier. “You can take the protein into the kitchen, it’s just in the house on the left. And the med kits go in the front room with the rest of the medical equipment; you’ll see it.”

“Right you are,” Albia said. She and Zoë unloaded their cargo and hoisted it between them.

The soldier eyed the guns and grenades that Zoë and Albia had strapped to their bodies. “Those aren’t regulation,” she said.

“We’ve been travelling through unsecured and potentially hostile territory,” said Albia. “Sometimes allowances have to be made.”

“I s’pose,” the soldier said. She shrugged a shoulder. “Are you making another haul today?”

“Depends,” said Zoë. “You got things as need hauling?”

“Arlen!” came a shout from across camp.

Arlen must have been the blonde soldier’s name. “Coming!” she shouted back, and she took her leave with an apologetic half-smile and a sloppy salute.

“I rather expected better discipline,” Albia muttered as she and Zoë mounted the steps to the farmhouse. The wraparound porch groaned in warning and gave several ominous creaks, and the hinges of the front door squealed. “I’d think these would be Daniels’s best and brightest soldiers, or why else would they be here?”

The question seemed rhetorical, and Zoë gave no answer. She and Albia stepped into the kitchen, nearly colliding with a soldier in such a rush that he couldn’t be bothered to look where he was going. Zoë and the hurried soldier exchanged glares, but Albia had already struck up a friendly conversation with a stout woman who had stripped her military uniform off and replaced it with a dirty apron.

“Just put the protein wherever,” said the woman. Zoë assumed she was a cook. She waved a wooden spoon at the counter that wrapped around the edges of the kitchen. “Not like organization or planning matters at a time like this, eh?” Her words, though sharp, carried no heat.

“Can’t say it’s the best-run operation I’ve seen in my time,” said Albia. “Still, I’m sure it’ll get better once the rest of the vanguard get here.”

The cook scoffed as she clattered pans in the sink. “It’ll only get worse.”

“Could you tell us where the general is?” Albia asked. “We’ve had orders to report to him directly.”

“Just up the stairs,” said the cook. “Though he won’t thank you for the interruption.”

Albia smiled. “We can handle him easy enough. Much obliged.”

Zoë and Albia piled the protein on a clear space of counter, then made a show of sorting through the med kits in the front room as several soldiers tramped by.

“The coast is clear,” whispered Albia after the soldiers passed. “Let’s go.” She led Zoë up the stairs, which creaked with every footfall, and down the hallway. Only one door was open; a warm yellow light, incongruously cheerful against the falling gloom of twilight, spilled into the hall. Albia paused in the doorway, Zoë at her shoulder.

“Is that you, Major?” General Daniels asked without looking up from the old writing desk he occupied. “I told you, I don’t want to be disturbed until—” He raised his eyes from the papers he had been reading. Albia pulled Zoë into the room after her and shut the door, and Daniels leaned back in his chair. “I must say, this comes as a surprise.”

“You must have been expecting me,” said Albia.

“Not at all,” Daniels said. He had removed his helmet, and now he ran one weary hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. The light behind him gave his craggy features extra depths and shadows. “I thought you were dead. The footage from the meadow—”

“The footage was misleading,” said Albia. “Put your hands flat on the desk where I can see them. Don’t move.”

Daniels obeyed. “The footage was beyond misleading,” he said. “It looked altered or corrupted. We couldn’t piece together what happened. How’d you do it? An EMP?” He and Albia stared at one another for a heartbeat, but Albia gave no answer. “I’m sorry for what Oswald did. He was only supposed to capture you.”

“You still signed off on the plan though, didn’t you?” Albia said. “The fake surrender, the ships allowing themselves to be boarded, all of it. How much of it was your idea?”

“All of it,” said Daniels. “It was my plan from the beginning, ever since those documents were stolen. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Albia nodded. “One of my spies. If it was your plan, why wasn’t it you who tried to take me captive? I would’ve thought you’d want the glory.”

Daniels leaned his weight forward as though he were about to stand, but Zoë and Albia both drew their guns. He eased back into his seat. “No need to get jumpy. I let Oswald have his moment in the spotlight because I thought if it were me, you’d be too tempted to try to kill me.” He raised an eyebrow. “As you are now.”

“Come with us,” said Albia. “Surrender to me, and I’ll see you’re treated well.”

Daniels shook his head sadly. “You know I can’t do that. We always knew this moment was coming, sometime or another; let’s not embarrass ourselves. Get it over with, won’t you?”

Albia nodded curtly and shot him in the head.


	9. A Phoenix from the Ashes

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Kaylee said. “If you can kill so easy with magic, why doesn’t Albia just have you kill all the generals?”

“These spells to kill instantly are dangerous,” said Merlin. “They leave a stain on your soul.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kaylee.

Merlin made some tiny adjustments to the ship’s course, and Kaylee watched him. He had been trailing General Cooper’s flagship at a distance for the past several days. It was a delicate work, keeping close enough to detect the flagship on the sensors, but not so close that Merlin drew attention to _Serenity_. He wasn’t worried that their distant presence would be of note; the sky around Beaumonde was more crowded than Merlin would like, but it was handy camouflage.

Kaylee didn’t drop the question like he was hoping, so he sighed and answered. “Some kinds of magic can change you. They mark you, or they make you different than you were before the spell.”

“And the spell you’re gonna cast… it changes you in a bad way?”

Merlin nodded. “Killing always changes people.”

“I still have nightmares about the Reavers we killed, back on Miranda,” Kaylee said in a small voice. “It feels silly. Simon says it ain’t. He says it’s normal to be _traumatized_.”

“He’s a smart man, your doctor.”

“He really is.” Kaylee smiled. “I just wish it would stop, but Simon says it’ll take time.” She sat down in the copilot’s seat and stared out the window at luminous Beaumonde. “How are we gonna get past the blockade?”

“I have an idea about that,” said Merlin. “But it’s gonna take some doing. You’ve pulled a Crazy Ivan before, right?”

“Aye,” Kaylee said. “And I’ve got no mind to repeat the experience.”

Merlin grimaced. “How long can we keep the ship spinning?”

Kaylee’s brow furrowed as she contemplated Merlin’s question. “You mean you want to keep the engines going opposite?” Merlin nodded, and she continued. “Some time, I s’pose, but it’s dangerous to keep the engines working like that for too long. It pulls the ship at the seams.”

“That’s alright,” said Merlin. “The engines don’t need to be firing the whole time. Getting out again will be the tricky part, but I think I’ll be able to manage an illusion.”

“Why can’t you use an illusion to get us in?” Kaylee asked.

“I will. Just a small one, though, and just for a bit. It’s a question of energy,” said Merlin. “Like pouring water out of a pitcher. I only have so much, and illusion spells take up a lot.”

Kaylee considered that for a moment. “What’s it like? Doing magic, I mean.”

“Beautiful,” Merlin said with the ghost of a smile. “Truly. It’s a heavy burden at times, but I’d never give it up.”

“And killin’ with it don’t make it ugly?”

Merlin shook his head. “This ship is used for thieving and smuggling. More than one person has died on her; one died right here, where I sit. But you still love her, don’t you? She’s still a home.”

Kaylee looked around the interior of the bridge. “It’s us who make her a home.”

“And just like _Serenity_ can be both a home and a means of crime, magic can be beautiful and terrible, and the killing doesn’t tarnish the beauty.”

“But it does, a bit, don’t it?” said Kaylee. “I mean, Zoë could barely come onto the bridge for months, and she still hates flyin’ the ship.”

“I suppose so,” Merlin conceded. “But I was young when I first killed with magic. I suppose I’m used to the idea now, and it’s not so bad.”

Kaylee frowned at that. “I always forget how old you are. I don’t think I could ever get used to killin’ like that.”

“That’s a good thing, I’d say,” said Merlin. They lapsed into silence, and Kaylee left not long after. Merlin sat alone, his heart weighing heavily in his chest. He felt dark, smudged somehow, and he longed to see Arthur again; Arthur, whose golden dawn-light always burned away Merlin’s gloom.

\---

“You travel well enough, for a king,” Jayne said as he threw armfuls of thistle and moor-grass over the grounded land speeder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Arthur. He dumped his own armful on the vehicle, and Jayne groaned.

“Not _in_ the speeder,” Jayne said. “ _On_ it. I just mean that I’d have figured you’d be complainin’ and mopin’ this entire time. Not everyone takes easy to travelin’ rough.”

Arthur surveyed his surroundings. As the light had dimmed, they had searched for a place to shelter for the night. Shelter had grown sparser as they drove down the highway into the wilderness of the northern continent’s highlands, until their only options were small groves of trees or in the lee of rocky cliffs and ledges. Arthur had spotted several abandoned farmhouses, but Jayne insisted they pass them by, being the first place Alliance soldiers or the feds would look for refugees. Arthur hadn’t been able to argue with his logic, so they had settled for the night in a small, natural hollow at the base of a cliff. The cliff stood between them and the road, but Jayne still refused to light a fire. Arthur thought it was a shame. A fire would have made the night much cozier. “I’ve lived a lot rougher with my knights, back in Camelot,” Arthur said. “We didn’t have nice convenient bars of protein, either. We had to hunt for rabbits and wildberries.”

Jayne eyed him as though trying to decide if he were joking or not. “You know, I don’t usually like you honorable types,” he said after a moment. “I can’t hardly tell what you’ll do next, for _honor_. But I don’t mind you half as much as I thought I might.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Arthur.

Jayne grunted. “Must’ve said it wrong.”

They passed the night in near-companionship, swapping war stories and old tales of adventure on unknown and untamed frontiers. Jayne made a poor substitute for Arthur’s loyal knights, but Arthur found that he missed them less and less these days. No—he still missed them and their boisterous laughter and their thirst for journeys and quests and great deeds, but he found that he had more to tether him to the present. He no longer pined for kingship and the past; now was an acceptable time. Once the light was so dim that Arthur could barely see his hand in front of his face, he and Jayne laid down several layers of clothing in the hollow at the base of the cliff and stretched out under the unfamiliar stars.

\---

The firefight must have lasted at least five minutes, but it felt like only a few heartbeats to Zoë. Her mind spun with shock after Albia shot Daniels, and her training as a soldier took over, just like Albia must have known it would. Zoë’s body reacted through instinct and muscle memory, and she felt detached from the fight, floating above and watching as her body and Albia’s slaughtered their way through the farmhouse. Albia took out nearly half the soldiers at once when she tossed a grenade down the hallway; after that, it was only a matter of picking off survivors. The soldier with the messy blonde curls died with a look of confusion on her face, her throat ripped out by Zoë’s bullets. Albia shot the hand off the cook when she reached for a panic button to summon reinforcements. The cook screamed and clutched the stump of her wrist, but Albia shot her again in the chest, and her screams turned to gurgles and then to silence. A bullet sliced Zoë’s arm, and Albia received several nasty bruises when she caught two bullets on her chest plate.

The clerk who had first spoken to them when they arrived tackled Albia as soon as she stepped out the front door, and they both fell through the porch. Zoë heard a series of blows landing, and then a gunshot echoed beneath the fractured wood. She knelt at the hole, ready to offer violence or assistance as the situation demanded, but Albia kicked her way out from underneath the porch in a shower of splinters and rotten wood. She spat blood. “Bastard nearly knocked my teeth out,” Albia said thickly. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome. Let’s rabbit before the cavalry arrives.”

Zoë couldn’t agree more. She loaded the Mule with fuel cans and revved the engine. “Where to?” she asked. She was beginning to come back to herself, and she didn’t like it.

Albia pulled out her handheld computer. “Head southwest,” she said.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” said Zoë after several minutes of silence.

“What, Daniels?” Albia said. “I’d rather not.”

“Sure, fine.” Zoë drove in silence for another minute. “Only it seems like you should.”

“You heard him. We both knew it was coming.” Albia crossed her arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to at some point,” Zoë said. “Maybe not to me, but to Mal, at least. He’d understand. It wasn’t just like killing another soldier, and don’t you dare act like it was.”

“It’s a good thing you’re such a good captain,” said Albia. “Because you’re a shit therapist.”

Zoë refused to dignify that with a response. “How far to the rendezvous?” she asked instead.

Albia took a moment to tally up the distance. “Five hundred miles or so,” she said. “We should be able to make it there tomorrow.”

“You don’t want to drive through the night?”

Albia shook her head. “The lights will be too obvious at night. Let’s get some distance from the forward camp and try to sleep for a bit. We’ll need to keep watch this close to the Alliance.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Zoë said. Albia protested, but Zoë was insistent. She drove until night had settled, crisp and brittle, over the moor, and then she drove a little longer.

“Over there,” Albia said, pointing at a black smudge against the dim sky. The smudge turned out to be a hedge and a small copse of trees, which served as passable, if not comfortable, shelter. She and Zoë shared a protein bar as they fumbled around in the dark, skittish of even the faintest flare of light. “We’ll make contact in the morning,” she said. She leaned against the bole of a narrow, wind-gnarled tree. “Jayne and Arthur should be on their way to the rendezvous point by now.”

“Go to sleep,” said Zoë through a yawn, and Albia was too exhausted to argue.

\---

Merlin guided _Serenity_ toward the Alliance blockade. As expected, he was hailed and ordered to stop. When he showed no signs of slowing down, the Alliance ships opened fire. He dodged and wove between the laser blasts as best as he could, muttering quick little spells to give the illusion that the ship was taking heavy damage. He drew dangerously close to the atmosphere. “Ready, Kaylee?”

“Ready,” came Kaylee’s confirmation over the ship’s comm.

“Now!”

Kaylee cut the starboard engine, Merlin wheeled it around, and Kaylee fired it up again. _Serenity_ fell into a tailspin, pulled to Beaumonde by the force of the planet’s gravity. Merlin reoriented the engine but didn’t switch it back on. “Merlin?” Kaylee sounded worried. “Everything alright with the engine controls? Only it kinda seems like we’re dead in the sky.” The ship shook and rattled as if to agree with Kaylee.

“We’re shiny,” said Merlin. He spoke one final spell and felt the magic leave him in a rush. The ship crashed through the atmosphere, trailing illusory smoke. None of the Alliance ships pursued them, and after a few moments, the barrage ceased. Air currents buffeted _Serenity_ and blew her off course, but Merlin did his best to hold her steady—or as steady as was possible for a ship plummeting toward the unforgiving surface of a planet.

“We’re getting very close to the ground,” Kaylee said. “You really oughta start us flying again or we’re bits.”

Simon rushed to the bridge. “Why are we falling out of the sky?” he demanded.

“Everyone’s a critic,” said Merlin. He engaged the engines as soon as _Serenity_ broke through the top cloud layer. The ship groaned in protest, but her spinning freefall evened out and slowed under Merlin’s control. He glided a short way over the northern continent and touched down at the rendezvous point. “There. Easy enough,” he said.

Simon gaped at him. “I’m going to go check if Mal’s alright,” he said faintly. “Your stunt may have knocked him out of his bed.” He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his baggy slacks, but not before Merlin saw that he was shaking.

“Did we do it? Are we okay?” asked Kaylee over the comm.

“We’re fine,” Merlin said. He hauled in a deep breath and resolved to never tell any of the crew how very close they had just come to a fiery, painful death.

\---

Arthur and Jayne were the first ones to the rendezvous point. They arrived in midmorning, just before the sun started making its final burning climb to its zenith. The breeze picked up, dragging along with it the warm smells of heather and clover. Judging by Albia’s radio signal, Jayne estimated that she and Zoë would arrive in the next hour or so. He dragged Arthur to the top of a bluff to keep watch in case of an ambush; from this vantage point they had an excellent view of _Serenity’s_ harrowing descent.

Arthur stumbled down the hillside, heedless of Jayne’s shouted warnings. He didn’t care that he was filthy and bone-tired; he didn’t care that they weren’t safe until they escaped Beaumonde, and even then, safety was a relative term. All he cared about was having Merlin in his arms once more as soon as possible. Merlin, stubborn and obstinate at the most inconvenient times but still so obliging when he needed to be, slid out from between the cargo doors as soon as they had opened wide enough for him to pass through. And then he was there, in front of Arthur, looking peaky and as weary as Arthur felt but no less lovely for it. Arthur held him at arm’s length for just a moment, drinking in the sight of him in his wrinkled shirt and grease-stained slacks, and then he pressed his lips to Merlin’s.

\---

Merlin couldn’t stop touching Arthur. His hand brushed Arthur’s hair; his elbow bumped Arthur’s shoulder; his knee knocked against Arthur’s thigh. Small touches, nothing that lingered, but just enough to reassure him of Arthur’s vitality, Arthur’s there-ness. He and Arthur and Jayne loaded the ship and prepared her for takeoff while Kaylee combed through the engine.

“You nearly blew out our aft alternator,” she grumbled. “I don’t ever want to pull that kind of stunt again.”

“Nor I,” said Merlin. The comm light blinked, signaling an incoming transmission, and Merlin hit the button to receive.

“Is that you I’m seeing by the cliffs?” said Albia through the comm.

“I sure hope so,” Merlin said with a smile. “Otherwise we’ve got problems.”

“Don’t let’s go tempting fate,” said Albia. “We’ll be there in five.” And so they were.

\---

Merlin handed over control of the helm to Zoë. “It’s the last time for a while,” he promised. “I need to focus.” Zoë frowned but made no complaint, and Merlin turned to his spellbook. Arthur stood nearby, a pillar of strength as always, though his eyes were ringed with dark circles and his shoulders drooped from exhaustion. He laid his warm hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Thus reinforced, Merlin began chanting. A bright orange illusion, fiery and sparkling, enveloped _Serenity_ as Zoë guided her through her takeoff sequence. Merlin shaped feathers and talons and bright eyes out of magic.

“What is it?” asked Arthur, his voice full of wonder. Merlin’s eyes were closed, but he knew what Arthur saw out the front window: a bird of bright light, the color of the edge of a candle flame, enveloping _Serenity_.

Merlin couldn’t answer, so immersed was he in his spellcasting. He saw the bird clearly in his mind’s eye, glorious and wreathed in flame. Its wings stretched for miles; its tailfeathers gleamed like comets. It left in its wake an aurora of letters: FROM THE ASHES, WE SHALL RISE.

A few Alliance ships opened fire, but none moved to accost the illusory phoenix as it soared into space, and none tried to hail _Serenity_. Merlin supposed that the captains and commanders were too stunned to respond. He could hardly blame them. His head was spinning with magic by now, and he knew he couldn’t maintain the illusion for much longer.

“The flagship,” Merlin said. His voice felt slow and indolent as it fell from his lips. “I need to kill the last general.”

Zoë glanced at him with worry in her eyes, but Merlin barely registered her concern. “Are you sure you can do it?”

Merlin nodded. “I have to.”

“You really don’t,” said Albia. When had she gotten there? Merlin realized there were two sets of arms supporting him; one was Arthur’s, so the other must be Albia’s.

“I can do it,” Merlin insisted, though his vision was so clouded with gold he could barely see. The deck shifted subtly under his feet as the ship’s artificial gravity fought against inertia, and Merlin felt like he could float. He was floating, he realized a moment later, and Arthur and Albia were holding him down. Or were they carrying him between them? Merlin couldn’t tell.

“We’re approaching the flagship,” Zoë said.

Merlin could tell he was running on the last dregs of his magic. Once it was expended, he’d have only the faintest wisps left. The thought frightened him so much that he almost didn’t cast the spell, but as the illusion of the phoenix’s wingtip passed through the Alliance flagship, he spoke the words that ended the general’s life. Inside the ship, the general collapsed, his life snuffed out like a candle in the black.

“He’s dead?” said Albia. Merlin nodded. “How do you know for sure?”

Merlin’s lips curled into a faint smile. “I had to feel him die,” he said. The phoenix faded along with his consciousness, and Kaylee shifted to hard burn.

\---

Merlin dreamed he was in Camelot. He sat in Gaius’s laboratory, mixing potions and tinctures. Rain fell in great noisy sheets outside; he could see the grey billows fling themselves at the window, but the lab was cheerful and brightly lit. Merlin sat by himself, but he felt quite sure that his friends were just on the other side of the door; Gaius was there, and maybe Gwen, and all the knights besides, so Merlin wasn’t truly alone. A hand touched his shoulder, and Merlin turned his head to see Arthur.

“What on Earth are you doing here?” asked Arthur. “Why aren’t you flying the ship?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Merlin stammered.

“You know how Gwaine hates to fly. He’s been begging Leon to take the helm, but Leon’s so drunk he can barely walk straight.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I never should have let him play a drinking game with Jayne.”

“You must be mistaken,” said Merlin. “Ships can’t fly, and I’m pretty sure Gwaine can’t either. And who’s Jane, anyway?”

Arthur sighed in annoyance. “Really, Merlin, we don’t have time for this. There’s a war going on, you know.”

“Who are we at war with?” Merlin said. “Mercia? Northumbria?”

Arthur didn’t answer, and Merlin turned to look out the window. Night had fallen, and the rain continued. He looked back at Arthur, but Arthur had disappeared. One by one, the herbs and potions vanished from the table before the table itself melted away. Camelot dissolved around Merlin, the stones blowing away into the wind, and he stood alone on a vast, empty plain. Rain continued to fall in silvery curtains, lashing down on and somehow _through_ Merlin, as though he were something unsubstantial. The earth poured down like a waterfall from under his feet; the rain didn’t stop so much as cease to exist. He drifted in the blackness between stars.

He heard a voice; from where, he couldn’t say. _Come back to me_. The stars twinkled. _Come back to me, Merlin_. He frowned. He was happy here—well, not happy, but peaceful at least. He wasn’t in pain, and he wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want to leave. _Merlin._ The voice grew more insistent. _Merlin, I need you._

_Merlin, I love you._

_It’s time to wake up._

Merlin opened his eyes.

\---

Merlin stumbled from the med bay to the main deck, his arm around Arthur’s shoulder. His head still felt light, and his body felt like it had been filled with smoke or clouds or some other diaphanous, insubstantial element. Kaylee was stress-cooking, and the savory smell of the roasting, spicy protein filled the deck. The whole crew had assembled in the kitchen in anticipation of the meal; even Mal was propped up in a cushiony armchair with Simon and his emergency kit nearby. Albia had roped Zoë and Jayne into listening to scout reports from Kaylee’s cobbled-together comm hub, and they sat grouped around the kitchen table, each with a notepad close at hand.

Zoë was the first to notice Merlin and Arthur’s arrival. “You’re awake,” she said with a smile.

“Do you always do this?” Albia asked. She barely glanced up from her notes. “Passing out after you perform magic, I mean.”

“Only if I do too much,” said Merlin. “Speaking of which, I’m starving.”

“Perfect timing,” Kaylee said. “I’m almost finished with dinner.” She glanced at the clock. “Or, well, whatever meal this is. They’re all the same, really.”

Arthur deposited Merlin in an armchair near Mal and went to help Kaylee in the kitchen. They chatted comfortably, and Merlin smiled at the gentle, domestic scene. Arthur’s new life had changed him in ways that continuously surprised Merlin. Every time he thought he had seen the extent of Arthur’s adaptations, he was proven wrong.

“Oh, before I forget!” Kaylee said. “I’ve been making some moonshine. Now seems like as good a time as any to have some.”

“This ain’t much of a time for celebration,” said Zoë. “We still ain’t got all the numbers yet, but it looks like near half our army was wiped out, and we’ve lost almost a third of our battleships.”

Kaylee’s smile faltered. “So many?”

“And we didn’t even win,” said Jayne.

“No,” Albia said. “We lost Beaumonde, it’s true. But we took out most of their command, and that’s something. Those men were the masterminds behind the Alliance forces; they didn’t have easy shoes to fill. We gave them a hell of a setback.”

“There’s gonna be chaos,” said Mal. He winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Chaos is good for us.”

Albia nodded. “We’ll regroup soon. Maybe head back to Ugarit. I need to re-establish a base of command and get in touch again with the other generals.”

“The other generals?” Jayne asked, surprise writ across his face.

“What, you didn’t think I was doing this all by myself, did you?” Albia smiled. “You’ve never met them, as far as I know. They don’t care to get involved in auxiliary support or black ops. Snobs.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Kaylee announced. She plonked the dish of protein and sauce on the table and hurried out of the kitchen. While she was gone, Arthur distributed plates to the crewmembers; the comm hub still occupied most of the table, so dinner would have to be an informal affair. Kaylee returned a minute later, bearing a large jug that sloshed menacingly.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” asked Merlin.

“Of course it’s safe,” Kaylee said. “I’ve drank this very stuff before and I’m perfectly alright.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Jayne laughed and ducked as Kaylee threw a mock punch. “But it’s a risk we’ll have to take.” The crew settled themselves with plates of food and mugs of moonshine and turned their attention to eating. Inara’s presence was missed, as was River’s, but Merlin hoped they would be a reunited crew once more before too long.

“What do we do next?” Jayne asked afterward as he cleared away the dishes.

Albia sighed. “I’m not sure yet. I can’t make any decisions until I know the full extent of the damage done to both sides. But I expect that there’ll be a measure of peace, or at least a slowing of hostilities for a while. I’ll move my headquarters; I’m thinking Denali or Clio, somewhere near Beaumonde.”

“So we’re going to keep fighting?” asked Zoë.

“I certainly am,” Albia said. “You may fight or not, as you please.” Her carefully-controlled expression softened. “What we did these past few days… I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Even me?” said Mal from his armchair in the corner.

“Oh, especially you,” Albia said. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a hint of a smile. “Your expertise in getting shot at was certainly a central aspect of my plan.”

Mal leaned back in his seat. “Glad to be of service.”

“I’d like to keep fighting,” said Arthur. “I have a duty to the people—”

“Yes, yes, the people of _Albion_.” Mal made a dismissive gesture.

Arthur looked hurt. “I was going to say, _the people fighting for independence_.”

“Finally giving up your pipe dream of being a king again, eh?” said Jayne.

“Do you have to be so obnoxious?” Merlin said. “He _is_ a king.”

“No, Merlin, I’m not. I need to find something else to be, because I’m not a king anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.” Arthur’s voice was quiet, but it had a force that carried it through the cabin. “I think that starts with winning this war. After that, we’ll see.” He took Merlin’s hand, and his next words were only for Merlin’s ears. “Whatever else I become, I want to be yours.”

Merlin was so overcome with emotion that he could barely speak. “You are,” he said finally. “And I am yours, as I always have been.”

Kaylee allowed their saccharine moment to linger for just a few heartbeats before she held up her stash of moonshine once more. “Time for refills!” she said with slightly too much exuberance, and she topped off everyone’s drinks. It wasn’t the conclusion Merlin— or anyone— had hoped for. They had lost so much; they would probably lose more before too long. But for now, they were still flying, and that would have to be enough.


	10. The Aftermath of Destiny

The business of restoring the Independent army to the state it had been before the attack on Beaumonde was a long and arduous one; three months later, everyone was frustrated at the pace of the progress. Still, Albia had no shortage of work to keep the crew busy: supplies needed to be hauled, spies and informants and officers needed to be transported, and weapons needed to be smuggled. According to River, Merlin’s illusions during their second escape from Beaumonde had bewildered the Alliance, whose scientists were desperately trying to find answers to questions they didn’t know how to ask. During a brief rendezvous, Inara reported (through many giggles) that a small sect of scientists believed the illusions to be magic, but they were largely regarded as conspiracy theorists and ignored. Inara alternately supported or discouraged the theory during her undercover work on the Core planets; Albia believed that confusion and uncertainty were more valuable than secrecy now.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Albia said over the comm one day. “When you’re finished with your current mission, come to Clio.”

Mal strode across the bridge from the copilot’s seat and spoke into the comm. “I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one,” said Albia. She sounded amused. “At least I hope so.”

“Damn that woman and her secrets,” Mal muttered after he had cut the comm.

\---

Landing on Delphi the second time was far easier than the first. Merlin navigated the shifting gravitational fields with confidence, and he touched down on a jagged, vertical cliff with only a few instances of swearing from Jayne and a great deal of white knuckles from the rest of the crew. Lieutenant Kravitz was there to meet them again, a broad grin on his face, and he greeted the crew like old friends. He gave a short report of the state of Delphi’s manufacturing industry; Mal nodded along politely, but Merlin could tell Mal was anxious to finish the mission and hurry back to Albia’s new base of operations. Zoë apparently noticed the same thing, for she cut through the lieutenant’s chatter with a polite smile and informed him that regrettably, they have a very tight schedule to keep, but they hope to be seeing him again soon.

“Thanks for the save,” Mal muttered as they boarded the ship. “Thought he’d never stop talking.”

“He seemed nice,” said Kaylee with a smile. “You don’t meet too many nice officers these days. They’re always so serious and cranky.”

“I was an officer,” Mal said, slightly stung.

Zoë nodded. “Yeah.”

Mal grumbled his way to the kitchen.

\---

Clio’s capital was a small beachside city that was scoured alternately by salty blasts from the sea and dry cold fronts from the north. The elements had bleached the few wooden buildings to shades of white and grey, and salt was driven into every crack of the stone streets and houses. Even though the space port was on the opposite side of the city, the scent of the ocean filled Merlin’s lungs as soon as he stepped off the ship. Inara greeted the crew at the docking station, looking slightly worse for wear but smiling from ear to ear.

“I must say, this is a fine surprise,” said Mal as she hugged him.

“Thank you, but I’m not the surprise that the general has planned for you,” Inara said.

“What happened?” asked Kaylee.

Inara touched the bandage taped to her forehead. One of her wrists was bound in a splint, and she wore braces on both her knees. “I was recognized on my last mission,” she said. “My getaway ship was nearly knocked out of the sky. Everyone survived, but it was a close thing.”

“Sounds exciting,” said Mal.

“I suppose.” Inara guided the crew through the cobblestone streets toward Albia’s headquarters. “But it means that my face is flagged in an Alliance database now. I won’t be able to spy anymore.”

“You’re welcome to come back,” Mal said after a moment’s hesitation. Inara looked back at him, surprised, and he shrugged one shoulder. “It would be nice to have us all back together again.”

Inara smiled. “It would indeed. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t be as useful to you as I once was. War tends to make my trade… difficult, at least outside the Core. I likely wouldn’t be able to afford rent.”

“You could always ply your trade with us,” Jayne said with a leer.

Mal hit him.

Jayne landed on the cobblestone with a thud. “What the hell was _that_ for?” He touched his hand to his mouth, and it came away bloody. Mal’s only answer was a glare.

Zoë offered her hand to Jayne and pulled him back to his feet. “Oh, Jayne,” she said. “How much we haven’t missed you.”

“Now that we’re done with that bit of unpleasantness,” said Mal. “You’d be a full member of my crew. Get paid by the Independent army.”

Inara drew her silk shawl closer around her shoulders. “What would I do?”

“You were a good medical assistant,” said Simon from behind Inara. “I wouldn’t mind more help in the med bay.”

“And I can teach you a bit of how the engine works, if you like,” Kaylee said. “It’s good to have another set of hands or eyes in an emergency.”

“And we always need a diplomat,” added Zoë. “Albia’s sending us on missions to all kinds of places we don’t fit in.”

“Well, if you don’t fit in, I certainly won’t.” Inara gestured to her fine outfit. Her elegance was only slightly marred by her bandages.

“But you know how to use that, is what I’m saying,” Zoë said.

Inara didn’t say anything for a few moments. “This isn’t some sort of tactic to save my immortal soul or correct my evil ways, is it?”

“Of course not,” Kaylee assured her.

“Well, maybe a little,” Mal said.

Kaylee shot him a glare before she continued speaking. “We want you back with us, and we reckon you’d want to keep yourself busy, that’s all.”

Inara glanced back at the crew with a small smile. “I’m sure General Albia has some other plans for me. But I’ll think about it, I promise.”

Albia’s headquarters, a red brick building surrounded by trees and drowned in ivy, came into view. Inara led the crew up the gravel path through the herb garden that Merlin was pretty sure the general herself maintained. Mal tried again to figure out what surprise Albia had in store for them, but Inara only smiled and shook her head. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said.

The crew entered a spacious sitting room near the front of the house. The wide, arched windows let in ample sunlight, and Merlin thought he saw Albia’s influence in the many lush houseplants that decorated side tables. A woman with long black hair sat in a grey armchair, gazing out the window at the herb garden. She stood and turned, and her face broke into a wide grin.

“River!” Simon exclaimed. He rushed across the room and grabbed her in a hug.

“Hey, Simon.” River waved at the crew, still wrapped in Simon’s arms. “Hi, everyone.” As soon as Simon let her go, Kaylee threw her arms around her as well, and they both laughed. “I missed you too, Kaylee.”

“A fine surprise indeed,” Mal murmured to Zoë.

Jayne pouted. “Why didn’t I get this kind of welcome when you ain’t seen me for a year and a half?” he asked.

“Because we like River,” said Mal, and he went to join the small group that had formed.

Arthur hung back; he barely knew River, and Merlin knew he wouldn’t want to disrupt her reunion with the crew. Jayne hesitated as well, much to Merlin’s surprise.

“Aren’t you going to say hi?” he said.

Jayne glanced at Merlin, then looked back to the rest of the crew. “Nah. Reckon I’ll wait a bit.” He sounded almost wistful.

After a few minutes of chatting with the rest of the crew, River turned to Merlin and Arthur. Her eyes flicked from one to the other. “Finally,” she said with a smile. “You’re so bright I can hardly look at you.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Simon, pulling River’s attention back. “Merlin found some research that might help me heal you in the information Inara stole. Really, completely heal you.”

River’s smile faded. “Would I still be…” she tapped one finger to her temple.

“I’m not sure,” Simon said. “Maybe. The results of the research were inconclusive, but the method seemed promising.”

River said nothing for a moment then shook her head. “Not yet,” she said. “After the war’s done, maybe then.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “But it hurts you.”

“Not so much,” said River. “The treatments make me more normal. They’re good enough for now. I need this, Simon. I’m doing so much with it.” She clutched Inara’s arm. “Tell him.”

Inara hesitated. “It’s true that she’s gotten us all sorts of information we’d never have known otherwise,” she said. “But River, sweetie, are you sure? You don’t need to sacrifice your own health and happiness.”

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? All of you.” River looked around at the crew. “That’s what war demands of us.”

“No, it’s what _Albia_ demands of us,” muttered Zoë, but her comment went unremarked-upon.

“Simon, I’m good at this. And I’m the only one who can do what I do.” River tilted her head. “I know you’re worried, but I’m not a child anymore.”

Simon sighed. “We’ll talk more about this later,” he said. “For now, though… where are you staying on base?”

“I’ve got a room just upstairs.” River gestured toward the ceiling. “Albia wants to keep me close by.” She paused. “But I wouldn’t mind spending some time on the ship, while I’m here.”

“You’ll have to,” said Simon. “It’s just about time for your next treatment. I’ve made a few adjustments, and this one should last longer. You won’t have to give yourself booster shots this time.” River pouted but nodded in agreement.

The reunited crew chatted long into the evening, swapping stories about escapades and missions. Because so many details of her assignments were still classified, River could sometimes speak only in the most general of terms. Merlin could tell that even her vague descriptions gave Simon cause for worry. The sunlight dimmed, and twilight crept in and settled over the town like a light-footed cat. Merlin’s stomach growled; fortunately, no one had heard except Arthur, who chuckled and suggested that they find a place to eat dinner.

“We could eat here,” River suggested. “There’s a kitchen and everything. But there’s mostly just protein to eat.”

Kaylee wrinkled her nose. “I’m sick of protein. Now that we’re planetside, I want to eat some real food.” Zoë and Jayne voiced their agreement, and the crew set off in search of a diner.

“So, now that your mission’s all done with, can you talk about it?” Mal asked as they trod through the darkening streets.

River shook her head. “It’s still classified. I doubt I’ll be able to tell you until after the war.”

“Why’s it so secret?” Kaylee asked.

“Because of where I’ve been,” said River. “And who I’ve been.” Simon frowned at that but made no comment.

The nearest open eatery turned out to be a tavern, and Merlin noticed Jayne perk up at the suggestion of beer. The crew settled themselves around a series of tables and talked long into the night. If Merlin had thought about it, he would have expected some discomfort or awkwardness, some lines drawn in the sand. But River and Inara and even Jayne melted back into the crew as though they had never been gone. Merlin thought he could sense a hurt from Arthur, a tenderness when the others referenced experiences he didn’t share, like poking a nearly-healed bruise. But Jayne drew Arthur back into the conversation, and he brightened at being included.

River was the first to leave. “I think I’ll go back to the headquarters tonight,” she said around a yawn. “I don’t feel like carrying all my stuff across the base at this hour.”

“I’ll walk you back,” Simon said, and Kaylee joined them.

Inara followed suit not long after. “I’m going to call it a night as well. This isn’t really my kind of place,” she said, glancing around at the age-darkened wooden walls of the tavern.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Mal asked as she stood.

“Albia’s assigned me an apartment for the time being,” said Inara. “It’s small but serviceable.”

Mal cleared his throat. “How ‘bout I walk you there? Make sure you arrive safe an’ all.”

“Alright,” Inara said with a smile.

Some time later, Merlin was feeling the pleasantly soporific effects of an evening of good food and drink, and he stood and stretched. “I’ve got a few things to take care of on the ship tonight,” he said. “The new intake procedures are a right pain.”

“Don’t tell me you’re working more tonight,” said Arthur.

Merlin shrugged. “Alright. I won’t tell you that.”

“If only you could have been this dedicated when you were my manservant,” Arthur said, and he laughed when Merlin swatted him on the shoulder.

“You have no idea what I did for you,” said Merlin.

Arthur caught his hand. “Yeah, I do.”

Zoë coughed pointedly. “You staying?” she asked Jayne.

“Yeah,” Jayne grunted. “Been ages since I had some decent booze. You want another drink?”

Zoë looked down at her empty mug. “May as well.”

The chatter of the tavern drowned out the rest of their conversation as Merlin and Arthur stepped out onto the street. They made their way to the dock in companionable silence. The streets around them were well-lit, though dusty, and the many bars and taverns were crowded with soldiers. Every now and then, a tavern door would open to let a patron through, and light and laughter spilled out onto the street.

“So,” Merlin said when they reached the docks. “You still want to learn how to fly?”

“Tonight?” said Arthur. “It’s late.”

“Just the basics. We won’t actually make it into the sky, but I’ll show you how to take off and steer, at least.”

“Alright.” Arthur followed Merlin to the helm and watched his hands move across the dashboard.

“I’m preparing her for the intake clerks tomorrow,” Merlin said. “See, when I press this button, the ship compiles all our route info since the time I specify here.” He pointed to a number keypad below a screen readout. “Then, the clerk can just put a chip in this slot here, press that button, and our route is loaded onto the chip.”

Arthur watched him with a smile. “This isn’t just work to you, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” Merlin looked up. “I love the ship. I love flying.” He pressed himself against Arthur. “And I love you, too,” he whispered.

Arthur clutched at Merlin’s shoulders. “Three months,” he said. “Three months I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“I’ve been waiting two thousand years,” said Merlin, and he drowned Arthur’s reply in a kiss.

They crashed through the ship together, never separated for long, and ended up in Merlin’s bunk. “The others might be back soon,” Arthur said as he stripped off Merlin’s shirt.

“I don’t care.” Merlin sighed when Arthur applied his mouth to the newly-bared skin.

Arthur laughed against Merlin’s collarbone. “I just meant that we should make the most of the time we have.”

And they did.

Afterward, they lay panting and tangled together in Merlin’s bed.

“I think like this,” Arthur said. His fingers traced along Merlin’s shoulder blades.

Merlin huffed. “I should hope so.” Arthur gave him a small shove, and he laughed.

“I mean, I think I like being a regular person,” Arthur said. “I like not being the king. My life belongs to me again, in a way it never did in Camelot.”

Merlin rolled over to face him. “I know what you mean,” he said. His fingertips brushed Arthur’s cheek, his jaw, down his neck, and Arthur shivered. “Our destiny is over and done, now. I think it has been for a long time, and I’m glad of it.” His hand traveled lower, and Arthur arched into his touch.

“What about magic?” Arthurs words sounded slightly strained. “You’re aging again, you said. You’ll die someday, same as the rest of us.”

Merlin stilled. “Is that really what you want to talk about right now?” he asked incredulously.

“I suppose not.” Arthur paused. “Only it seems important. What will happen to magic when you die?”

“You can never leave well enough alone, can you?” Merlin said with a sigh. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling of his bunk. “I don’t know what will happen. Maybe it’ll find someone else. Maybe it’ll die when I do, but I hope not. I’ve been looking for ways to transfer it to someone permanently, or to sort of… put it out in the universe.”

Arthur considered that for a moment. “Are you sure that’s for the best?”

“No,” Merlin whispered. “I’m not sure of anything. But when I think of the alternative—magic gone forever—”

“You can’t bear it,” Arthur said. He stretched an arm behind his head. “I understand.”

“You’ve changed a lot. There was a time when you wanted to eradicate magic from Camelot, and now look at you.”

“We’ve both changed.” Arthur’s other hand found Merlin’s, and Merlin smiled at the touch. “We had to.” They lay together in silence for a minute before Arthur spoke again. “What do we do now? If we no longer have destiny to guide our path.”

“Our lives are ours to choose,” said Merlin. “Or maybe they always have been, but destiny made sure that we’d choose the right things. Either way, we’re free to do as we please.”

“About that,” Arthur said. “I think I have some ideas.” He pulled Merlin close.

\---

It was not the life—nor the death—he would have chosen for himself back in Camelot, Merlin reflected later that night, gazing through the windshield of the helm at the strange stars above. He glanced at Arthur, bent over a Mandarin lesson-book in the co-pilot’s seat, and smiled. Perhaps it was time to put aside those ancient dreams and regrets. Arthur had been right all along; he wasn’t a king, and Merlin wasn’t his servant. It had been years since Arthur had woken from his death, but Merlin felt that a ‘Verse of possibilities had only just now opened to them. What would they be now, in this second life of theirs? Merlin wasn’t sure, but that didn’t worry him.

After all, they had time to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, folks! I'd like to say thanks again to [pablo360](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pablo360/pseuds/Pablo360) for his incredibly helpful alpha reading and feedback.
> 
> And thanks as well to you, readers, whether you've been following since the first chapter or only clicked on it once it was complete. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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